


Fairest in All the Land

by LuccaAce



Series: Fairest 'verse [1]
Category: Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Genre: (that means big hairy dudes), Bears, Boy!Snow White, Evil Queen is Really Evil, Fairy Tale Retellings, Heavily drawn from Grimms', It's some of the Dwarves, M/M, Oblivious, Overprotective Dwarves, Silly boys being silly, The Huntsman and Prince Charming are the same dude, The Threesome is not including Snow White or Prince Charming, Threesome - M/M/M, not shota
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuccaAce/pseuds/LuccaAce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The classic story of Snow White, with inspiration drawn heavily from the original fairy tale, slashed.</p><p>Here, you'll find boy!Snow White, big men who ironically call themselves' dwarves (who like to sex each other up), romance, teasing, and promises kept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my FictionPress account. I've been working on this project on and off for years (I'm highly distractable, and I've had some stuff going on in my life that precludes creativity), and I'm hoping that I'll finish it one day. I love the guys in this, and I hope you love them too.
> 
> That being said, this work is not beta'd. Sadly. I do not have a beta, so I do the best I can on my own.

Finnian tried very hard not to giggle from his hiding place in the palace garden. For an almost-seven year old, his efforts were quite impressive. However, he didn't have a chance of hiding from Wylie, who, at the age of sixteen, was well on his way to becoming one of the King's favorite huntsmen.

"Gotcha!" Wylie tickled Finnian's ribs, making him double over with laughter.

"Wylie! Stop it, I can't," the rest of his sentence was interrupted with his own laughter.

He let out a delighted shriek as Wylie easily hefted him up by his pale ankles, swinging him back and forth, knowing that he could never drop the tiny prince.

All playfulness vanished the instant Wylie caught sight of the perfect golden coif of the queen approaching. He grabbed Finnian around the waist, set him gently behind a rosebush, and hid the bush from the queen as she passed.

"Majesty," he murmured, sweeping a common bow. He stole a glance at her through his messy chestnut curles. She barely nodded at him as she passed, intent only on the mirror in her hand. Wylie thought she was the most horrible woman he'd ever seen, despite how beautiful she was. The only thing that could hold her attention was her own reflection; all else, including husband and step-son, were for amusing her in the moments she found herself between mirrors.

Once she was out of hearing-range, he turned to Finnian. A rare frown made its way to Wylie's face when he saw how terrified his tiny companion was. Finnian's lips trembled the smallest amount, brown eyes large and overly moist, as he stared into the garden path the queen disappeared down.

Wylie dropped to his knee, not caring how dirty the garden soil made his pants, and wrapped Finnian into a tight hug. He was glad Finnian couldn't see the anger in his face. No one should make such a sweet boy so scared.

"Wylie," Finnian began, "What was my mother like?" The only time Finnian asked about his mother was after seeing the queen.

"She was the most amazing woman I've ever seen," Wylie told him warmly. "Her eyes were the blue of the dark part of the sky at sunset. Even though her voice was soft, every time she spoke everyone would be quiet so they could hear her, it was so beautiful. And she wanted more than anything to have a baby just like you-you were the answer to her deepest wish."

"Really?" Finnian always doubted that.

"Really. Everyone says so. Just ask your Papa." Wylie smoothed the blue-black hair on Finnian's head. He wasn't exactly happy with the King, either. The man did tell Finnian that he loved him, but he was constantly making and breaking promises to spend time with him.

"Your highness! Prince Finnian! Where are you?" A round middle-aged woman yelled from the entrance to the garden.

"You'd better go, or your nurse will be angry with you."

"I know," Finnian drew his brows together in an adult expression that looked ridiculous on the face of a child. "Will you come to my party tomorrow?"

"Don't you want to play with friends your own age tomorrow? Surely you don't want an old hunter there."

"I don't care about them," Finnian said frankly, "I just care about you. Please come?"

"I'll be there no matter what," Wylie assured him. He knew he'd feel horribly out of place, but he wasn't going to deny the prince his birthday wish.

The smile Finnian gave him warmed his heart pleasantly. Then Finnian made an impatient motion for Wylie to bend down and, when he did so, planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you Wylie. I look forward to seeing you." Pale cheeks flushed bright pink.

Then Finnian ran to meet his nurse, who was beginning to sound upset with him.

Wylie smiled to himself before trekking the opposite direction, towards the forest where he lived with his uncle and teacher.

"Uncle! I'm back," Wylie yelled as he opened the door, kicking off his boots as he did so.

"'Bout time, brat," a forty-something grouched from the main room, sharpening his favorite knife.

Garret had been hunting since he was old enough to hold a bow. He'd joined the King's hunters at a young age and had long been a favorite of His Majesty's. His gray eyes, even now, with wrinkles forming at their corners, could still see movement beyond what should be possible and tell what creature happened to be moving there. Wylie was his sister's son, her third, and when she couldn't afford to feed him, Garret had taken the boy in.

He often acted like Wylie was a burden, but lately he forgot how he managed without the teen there to help him. Nimble fingers and quick feet often made themselves useful, especially after several hours in the woods when Garret's own fingers and feet weren't wanting to cooperate. It wouldn't be long before Wylie would be recognized as a favorite of the King. Garret wanted to be jealous, but he couldn't manage it over the pride he felt.

The two had dinner in a comfortable quiet, with no need for conversation between them. When they finished, Wylie took the dishes to wash. He didn't mind, really, washing the dishes and keeping the house clean. They were actions of gratitude, a way for him to express it without the words that would just embarrass his kind uncle.

"Tomorrow I'm going into the forest with the King. Will you join us?"

Wylie looked up quickly, surprise quickly followed by anger. Garret raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

"The King hunts tomorrow? But it's Prince Finnian's birthday! The prince will be so disappointed." He scrubbed with angry energy, gray eyes, much like his uncle's, narrowed in his tanned face.

"Ah," Garret knew Wylie had a soft spot for the young prince, "I'll remind the king before we set out, then. Perhaps he'll delay the hunt." They both knew that was unlikely, considering how much he enjoyed hunting.

Wisely, Wylie refrained from saying anything negative about their king. Both thought that the man should pay more attention to his family than he did, but to say something derogatory was treason. Instead of focusing on his disappointment in his ruler, Wylie wondered if he had anything suitable to wear to a prince's birthday party.

~~~Spiegelein, Spiegelein an der Wand~~~

Queen Ingrid was pleased with her life. She had a gullible husband, an ignorable stepson, and some magical artifacts. What more could a woman want?

When she left the garden, she headed for the home of the Grand Duke. The old man still didn't realize that she went over there nearly every day, and her husband assumed she spent her days in the garden. Fooling them was so easy she couldn't even take any pride in it.

Sneaking in the back door, not caring if servants saw her and knowing they wouldn't recognize her because of the special amulet she wore, she went up the stairs to the office where the Viscount, the handsome young son of the Grand Duke, would be waiting for her. Their tryst had been going on for nearly as long as she'd been in the palace-she'd made love with him before she had with her husband.

The King gave her the power she needed, but his kindly middle-aged appearance clashed with her legendary beauty. Christopher, the viscount, had white-blond hair, a strong face, and an impressive physique. He matched her perfectly.

When she arrived in his office, he was staring moodily through the window overlooking the front of the house, obviously waiting for her visit.

"Guess who?" she covered his eyes with her dainty hands. A pleased laugh escaped her mouth as Christopher turned quickly around and drew her into his arms.

"I missed you," he said solemnly. He was a simple man, always expressing himself plainly. Ingrid had worried about that initially, but once she grew accustomed to it she realized that his simplicity would bind him even more to her.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had some matters to attend to. We don't want my husband to find out, after all." She petted his arm comfortingly. After that, conversation made itself scarce as the two of them lost themselves in their desires. The window reflected their actions clearly, and Ingrid watched herself as he pounded into her, utterly taken with the way her face looked while locked in passion. Her expression as he finished brought about her own release.

After a few hours, Ingrid had to return to the palace. They littered their farewell with long kisses and refused to keep their hands to themselves. She assured him that she wanted nothing more than to stay; she had to leave to perform her duties as queen.

As always, she was glad to leave.

When she arrived at her home, she headed straight to her rooms to change for dinner and wash away the evidence of her afternoon activities. While she waited for her maids to help her dress, she admired her figure in the mirror. Her long golden hair hid her left breast, but bared its perfect and perfectly identical twin, round and just pliable enough, decorated by the dark nipple. More hair, a couple of shades darker than that on her head, curled at the junction of her thighs. All of her skin was smooth and firm and touchable, and she confirmed this by running her hands over it.

Stepping closer to the mirror, she admired her face. Her eyebrows arched fashionably over dark green eyes. Ripe lips the same color as her nipples expressed only what she wanted them to. Cheeks always bore just the right amount of color.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?" Even her voice, which lilted or cut at her whim, sounded just as a woman's should.

The mirror's face shimmered like disturbed water. Ingrid's reflection was distorted, but still beautiful.

"You are the fairest in all the land," the mirror intoned in an unearthly voice. Satisfied, Ingrid turned to the door as her maids entered to dress her.

Dinner went as it always did. The small brat sat at his place and didn't speak, the only good thing about him. Her husband sat across from her at the handsome table and smiled at her beauty. From her place at the opposite end of the table, she smiled back and lifted her chin. The food tasted fit for a royal family and the brat's nurse prompted him to eat his vegetables.

After he ignored his green beans for the fifth time, Ingrid spoke up, tired of hearing the common woman's voice.

"Child, do as your nurse tells you and stop being defiant." She made her voice as cold as she could. The first time she'd done that to him, he'd sobbed throughout the rest of the meal. Now, he just looked frightened and did as he was told. This time was no different: his eyes grew round and snapped to her face, he stared at her a few moments with a trembling lip, and then he picked up his fork and began doing as he was told.

"That's a good lad," the king approved. His eyes were still focused on his wife, so he didn't see the way Finnian looked over at him sadly.

When dinner finished, Finnian went up to bed and the king and queen to their offices. Ingrid's office was decorated in soft colors and had mirrors on every wall. She didn't work much, being too distracted by her own reflection. No one minded, and everyone agreed that beauty like hers served the kingdom simply by existing.

The clock struck ten and their Highnesses retired to the large bedroom between their offices. Every night the King made reverent love to the Queen. And every night she hid her sighs of boredom under fake cries of passion, remembering how Christopher held her during the daylight hours. Each drifted to sleep dreaming of Ingrid's face.


	2. Chapter 2

~~~Wer ist die Schönste im Ganzen Land?~~~

Sometimes Finnian considered throwing violent temper-tantrums. In his imagination, he would scream as loud as he could, throw everything he got his hands on, and completely refuse to comply with anything. He wondered if that would make his father pay more attention to him.

But Finnian was a good boy, and he didn't want his father to be angry with him. If he threw a tantrum he would worry his father, and anger his stepmother, which would further upset the king. It wasn't fair.

His stepmother was wandering the gardens again, probably going to the Grand Duke's house, like he'd seen her do before. His father was off hunting, most likely having forgot that today was his son's seventh birthday. Finnian understood that his birthday brought back painful memories for his father, since it was the same day his first wife died, but he still thought that the king should at least make an effort to wish him a happy birthday.

The only people at the party were some noblewomen, his nurse, and a couple of children who were making money for their parents by being there. The garden was decorated in beautiful blues and whites, and an enormous cake sat on a table, surrounded by gifts, but Finnian wasn't happy. He didn't want the cake or the presents, and he certainly didn't want to play with children he didn't know.

Just as Finnian was about to start crying, Wylie jogged into the party.

"Wylie! You made it!" Finnian ran to Wylie and jumped into his arms. "I thought you forgot. I though you weren't going to come." He didn't quite cry.

"Of course I came, silly," Wylie assured him, "I told you I would, didn't I? My uncle would skin me alive if I lied. Men in my family keep our word." He rubbed the prince's back soothingly.

Some of the noblewomen were insulted that a common huntsman would come to the party, while others were enchanted by his gentle way with Finnian. After his arrival, Finnian perked up and the party's atmosphere lightened. The nurse thanked him profusely in the brief moments when he wasn't playing with Finnian.

Then it began to rain, and the guests panicked and ran inside. Wylie grabbed the wrapped presents off the table and rushed them inside before he noticed that Finnian was nowhere to be seen. He asked the nurse.

"I didn't see him come in," she said, looking a little worried, "Do you think he's still outside? In the  _rain_?"

"I'll go find him. Don't worry," Wylie smiled confidently, making her relax. Then he ran back outside, looking for white skin and black hair.

"Prince Finnian! Prince Finnian? Where are you?" He jogged down the garden paths, beginning to worry. He drew up short when he saw Finnian standing with his face upturned, arms out, and face joyous.

Finnian turned to Wylie and smiled. "Hi Wylie."

"Why are you still out here? You're soaking wet," Wylie demonstrated this by tugging on a soaked black lock of hair. The rain made Finnian look even more ethereal than usual, changing him from a seven year old boy into an ageless fairy.

"I like the rain. Father told me that when it rains, Mother is letting me know that she's watching," his pink lips formed a wistful almost smile.

"She's probably very proud of you," Wylie managed to say, "You're a great prince, and you'll make a great king someday. You'll be just like the kings in the storybooks-handsome and kind and noble. Just you wait."

"Will you think I'm handsome, Wylie? Will you be my huntsman when I'm king?" The questions were asked with a perfectly serious face. Wylie had a vision of what Finnian would look like grown, with his already impressive looks and a strong, kingly frame. The older boy's heart fluttered unfamiliarly.

"Of course I will," he knelt in front of Finnian and rested his hand on the frail shoulder. "I'll always be there for you."

Finnian's smile was the most beautiful thing Wylie had ever seen. Wylie took Finnian's small, soft, pale hand in his dark long-fingered work-roughened one, and they walked inside together.

~~~Frau Königin, Ihr wart die Schönste hier~~~

Ingrid's day had gone exactly as she had hoped upon waking up. She bid her husband farewell as he went off on his hunt, which had been suggested by her in the first place, before wandering around the palace for a few hours. Then she'd brushed her hair until it shone even more than usual, put on her favorite spring gown, and walked through the gardens to the Grand Duke's home.

After their passion was spent, Ingrid brought up a delicate matter that she needed assistance with. Christopher was, as she'd expected, reluctant at first.

"What? No! I can't-I don't believe you'd-what?" His pretty eyebrows were drawn close with shock.

"Please, darling? Then we can be together always. We can get married and our child will know his father. You know he won't look anything like the king. He'll kill me if he finds out I'm in love with you instead of him! Won't you help me? For my sake?" She, of course, had no idea whether or not the child within her was Christopher's or the King's, considering that she had sex with both daily.

"You're pregnant?" Christopher's sky blue eyes widened. "It's mine?"

"Yes," she answered to both questions, stepping close enough to him that she could smell the apples he'd eaten for breakfast on his breath, "And if you help me, I will also be yours."

Christopher didn't stand a chance, really. He embraced her passionately once again, taking extra time to worship the still flat stomach of his Queen.

Later, she'd been a little upset that the rain would keep her from walking back through the gardens, but Christopher had offered to take her with his carriage and go along with whatever lie she concocted. He'd performed his part admirably, reassuring her that he was her perfect match, before heading back home.

The prince's party surprised her-she'd forgotten all about it. It didn't bother her much, though, and she'd gone directly to her chambers without sparing a glance for her stepson and his friends. The brat would be the first to go after the death of the King. A pesky little heir was exactly what she didn't need spoiling her plans.

Once again in her rooms, she removed the damp gown, displeased with the way the fabric dragged along her skin. Her naked reflection in the magic mirror caught her attention, as it always did, and she stepped forward to admire herself.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?" Confidence radiated from her face and flooded her voice. The answer was always the same, but it never made her any less pleased.

"Your majesty, you've been the fairest, it's true," the mirror intoned. The queen lifted her chin with pride. "But Finnian is a thousand times fairer than you."

"What? You're lying! You can't lie. Speak truth to me, mirror!" She grabbed wildly, hands landing on her hairbrush, which she hoisted menacingly.

"Fair queen, I cannot lie. Finnian's beauty surpasses thine." Ingrid threw the brush at the mirror's face, making a spider's web of cracked glass ripple from where it hit. The mirror made no sound as the magical shimmer faded, leaving only unenchanted broken glass behind.

"I broke it," surprise filled Ingrid's voice, "I really broke it. I must write to the wizard who made it for me to begin with. He can fix it." She was shaking now. The news the mirror had delivered was still sinking in.

"Majesty!" Ingrid's maids ran into the dressing room, gasping when they saw the broken mirror. The queen had loved that mirror, not even letting them clean it. "What happened?"

"A bee landed on the mirror and, in a moment of panic, I threw my brush at it. It's nothing of concern. Just clean up the mess after I leave," she motioned for them to come dress her, already thinking about how she would take care of the problem of Finnian.

Dressed and once more calm and composed, Ingrid called for a hunstman to see her.

"Majesty," the maid curtsied prettily, "The King has taken all of his huntsmen with him into the forest today. The only one available is the nephew of His Majesty's favorite huntsman. Would you have me send for him."

"Yes, yes," the queen disliked putting the matter off any longer. "Send him to me at once."

She shook her head in annoyance. The mirror's words echoed through her mind. A thousand times more beautiful? It shouldn't be possible. He was a small, wretched, black-haired thing. Something must have happened, but she couldn't imagine what. Could it be her pregnancy? But people always said that pregnancy made women more radiant, not less. Was it something the brat did?

"Your majesty?" The queen's eyebrows rose as she saw that a teenager, not a man, knelt in front of her. He looked absolutely common, with his overly long curly hair, work darkened skin, and muscular build.

"You are the huntsman's nephew?" Something about him was familiar; she had probably seen him around before. His gray eyes were carefully guarded as he looked up. Strange.

"Yes, majesty. You sent for me? Did you need my services for something?" Of course he would be confused. A queen usually didn't ask hunters for anything.

"I have a task for you," she began, twisting the ring around her right pointer finger, which was enchanted to make people want to obey the wearer. "You know the young prince?"

The gray eyes narrowed suspiciously before he nodded.

"This afternoon, once the rain stops, you are to take him into the woods. Use whatever excuse you have to."

"Why am I taking him into the woods, majesty?" The confused look he gave her was particularly attractive on him. Perhaps he wasn't as common as she'd originally thought.

"To kill him," she said simply, now touching the charm that hung from a chain around her neck. This would aid in convincing him.

"What? He's only seven! Why do you want him dead?" During his outburst, the hunter jumped to his feet. He was taller than she'd thought.

"I have my reasons. You are a servant of the crown, are you not? Just do as I say." She twisted the ring again.

His mouth twitched in an effort to come up with something to say. Then he squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and swept a common bow. Something about the bow made her think back, but in the end she couldn't come up with a reason it should bother her so much. Everyone bowed to her in the palace.

"Yes, majesty," he said, voice flat. It was probably the force of the enchantment.

"Good man," she said, smiling pleasantly, "Bring me his heart as proof. Go now."

The glass of the window reflected her regal form, sitting in her guilded chair. The sight was quite breathtaking, so she didn't notice the hatred in the hunter's eyes just before he left the chamber.


	3. Chapter 3

~~~Aber Schneewittchen ist tausendmal schöner als Ihr.~~~

Wylie struggled to breathe as he left the queen's official rooms. His mind reeled, thinking about the order he'd just been given. He couldn't believe it.

Kill Finnian? He couldn't. Somehow, he had to help his little friend out. But the queen had asked for proof.

Running a hand through his already messy hair, he let his feet take him where they would. Without realizing it, he ended up in the garden where Finnian had been looking into the rain.

He dropped himself onto the bench there and rested his head in his hands, distraught. Perhaps he could kill a deer or something and take its heart to the queen. What would happen to Finnian then? And what would happen to him? Killing the crown prince, even at the order of the queen, was treason.

"Wylie?" The teen looked up at the cause of his distress. Something was different in the way Finnian looked. He was blushing hotly, standing awkwardly, and staring at Wylie raptly.

"Hey Finnian," despite Wylie's inner turmoil, he smiled at the prince. "Is the party all finished?"

Finnian nodded. Then he hesitated before walking up to Wylie.

"What's wrong?" Wylie wanted to know why Finnian was acting so different from usual. Surely he didn't know what the queen had just ordered.

"I want to tell you something," Finnian was as direct as ever, something Wylie loved about him. "It's important. And a secret. Can we go somewhere where no one will hear?"

Wylie's breath caught fearfully. This was the perfect opportunity to take Finnian into the forest. Figuring that he would have to take Finnian into the forest either way, he nodded.

"Let's go into the forest. No one will follow us there. Besides, haven't you wanted to see where I work?" Wylie knew his voice was falsely bright. He also knew that, while Finnian would notice, he wouldn't say anything.

Finnian nodded and the pair left the garden and headed toward the line of trees. As they passed the Grand Duke's home, Finnian reached out and grabbed Wylie's hand. Wylie looked down and smiled, squeezing lightly, puzzled when Finnian's face went red.

They walked through the forest in silence for several minutes until they arrived at a small clearing off the forest path. Then both tried to speak at the same time.

"Wylie-"

"Prince Finnian-"

Finnian forced himself to laugh, but Wylie just looked panicked.

"Prince Finnian, I have to tell you quickly. I'm really sorry about this, but you must do what I say. Your stepmother called me into her official chambers and she," he paused, cursing under his breath where Finnian couldn't hear him. "I had to tell her I would, you understand, but I'm not actually going to do it. But you can't ever come out of hiding, or she'll tell someone else to do it. Do you understand?"

"Do what, Wylie," Finnian's laughter stopped with the mention of the queen.

"She wanted me to kill you," Wylie whispered, hands shaking, "And bring back your heart. But I won't! I'll kill something else and bring her its heart. You have to hide, though. If you wait for me, I'll come back to get you. We can run away together."

"Okay, Wylie," brown eyes met his calmly, displaying complete trust.

"And if I don't come back," Wylie hesitated. He wanted to come back, but he knew that he might be caught. The queen might even kill him to hide her evil deed. "If I don't come back by sunset, I want you to run as far and as fast as you can. Go that direction," he pointed down the path, "and you'll come to some mountains. They form the boundary of your father's lands, and beyond them, the queen has no power. You're a sweet boy, someone will take you in. Try to find a nice family, if you can."

"You make it sound like you're not coming back," Finnian's voice was accusatory.

"I want to. More than anything, I want to come back. But I may not be able to. Please believe me; I won't leave you if I don't have to. I'll do everything I can to come back to you. If we're separated, I won't stop searching for you."

"I believe you, Wylie," the smile wobbled, but it was still beautiful. Wylie nodded and headed off to find something he could butcher for the queen. When Finnian spoke again, they were so far apart he almost didn't hear him. "I love you. I'll always love you." Wylie barely heard him.

Following the fresh tracks of a hart, Wylie wondered what he was going to do after he found something to deliver to the queen. He supposed he could leave his uncle and come back for the prince. Hopefully his uncle wouldn't be too angry with him. Hopefully Finnian wouldn't get hurt in the woods alone.

He was so lost in his musings that he didn't hear the rustling to his left. Too late, he realized that it was a wild boar, angry at something. Then it charged him.

"No!" he yelled, throwing himself out of the way and barely missing being speared by an already blood-covered tusk. This boar had recently killed something, but apparently its bloodlust still wasn't satisfied. Wylie pulled out his hunting knife.

It turned on him again, even angrier. This time, Wylie positioned himself and, as the boar neared, threw himself over the tusks, turning his body, so that he landed on top of the boar. It wasn't the wisest of plans, especially since the animal was easily three or four times his weight, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.

Thanks to Wylie's momentum and the awkward angle of approach, the beast crashed to the ground, rolling on top of Wylie. Wylie yelled every swear-word he knew and tried to stab the boar in its weak spots.

It managed to throw him off, and nearly crushed him beneath its great weight. Trying to remember everything his uncle taught him, Wylie rolled and dodged, faked and feinted, until, finally, he was able to shove his blade into the monster's eye. Once that was accomplished, the boar still wasn't through fighting. Now, however, Wylie knew it was only a matter of time.

He ran to a tree, leaped for the lowest branch, and thanked whatever deities might be looking out for him for the lucky grab. The boar screamed in fury, and proceeded to try to knock down the tree. Wylie continued to swear as the tree shook under the onslaught of the monster.

Suddenly, as though it finally realized there was a blade lodged in its brain, the boar shuddered and stopped moving. Wylie, not wanting to risk his life again just yet, stayed in the tree for several more minutes, until he was sure the thing was really dead. Then, once he was satisfied, he hopped down.

He realized that he had the heart he needed.

Retrieving his knife from the boar's eye socket, he began cutting into the creature as quickly as he could, not caring for anything except getting to the heart. Normally, he would be carefully preserving the hide and the edible meat, but today he took no such precautions. It still took him longer than he'd hoped, but he finally claimed his trophy.

After placing it in the oil-skin bag he wore on his hip, he ran to the stream he knew was nearby to wash some of the blood off. Not only did he not wish to be questioned by the guards in the palace, but he also didn't want to arouse the queen's suspicions-little boys didn't have this much blood, after all.

Once that was done, he slowed his pace and headed back to deliver his prize to the queen. He still had time to get there and return to where he'd left Finnian before dark. There was no need to rush and make the queen suspicious.

The queen saw him immediately upon his return. It seemed she'd been watching for him.

"Well?" she demanded impatiently, "Where is it? You have it, don't you?"

"Yes, your highness," he knelt and held out the bag with the boar's heart. He managed to repress the urge to gag at the glee she showed as she opened the bag and looked at the bloody mess inside.

"Very well done, little hunter," she breathed, touching the heart with her fingertips and then bringing the blood back to touch her mouth, licking her fingers clean. "You will be rewarded well for this." Wylie didn't like the tone of her voice. It made him want to shiver and run far away. Thankfully, he was about to do the second, as soon as she released him.

"Ingrid!" The king's voice echoed into the queen's personal office, where she and Wylie were currently situated. "My Ingrid!"

"What is it, my King?" Her voice changed from terrifying to coddling in a moment, making Wylie marvel at her powers of deception.

"He's dead, Ingrid. He's dead!" The king was distraught. Wylie's heart thundered in his ears as he considered the implications of that statement. The king had been in the forest that day, he could have seen Finnian. Was Finnian dead?

"Who is dead, dearest?" the queen walked over to him, running her fingers soothingly along his shoulders and through his hair.

"My huntsman," he said, voice softened with grief, "My favorite huntsman. He saved my life. There was a great boar, it tried to kill me, and he saved my life. Now he is dead."

"What?" Wylie forgot that commoners shouldn't speak to royalty unless spoken to. Not Finnian, but his uncle?

"Who are you?" the king demanded, "And why are you in my wife's office?"

"He's an aspiring huntsman, husband," the queen calmed him. "I needed a favor from him today."

"Forgive me, Majesty," Wylie choked out, "But you said your favorite hunstman was dead? You mean Garret the huntsman?"

"Yes, my boy. You knew him?" The king's voice lost its anger.

"He's my uncle," then Wylie corrected himself, "I mean, he was my uncle. He took me in, cared for me when my own folks couldn't." He told himself firmly that he was far too old to cry and blinked quickly in an effort to follow his own command.

"I am so sorry, lad," Wylie jumped at a hand being placed on his shoulder. The king's face showed sympathy and regret. "He was a great man."

Wylie could only nod.

"Majesties," another voice joined the three inhabitants of the room, just before Finnian's nurse entered. "Your Majesties, Prince Finnian is missing. We've searched for him everywhere-the gardens, every room in the palace, the stables. Everywhere! He is nowhere to be found. What should we do?"

The king and queen wore identical expressions of shock and fear. Once more, Wylie was impressed by the wicked woman's acting abilities. As for him, he simply tried to look as though he was surprised. Hopefully they wouldn't think anything of his unnatural reactions and chalk them up to his uncle's death.

"Send out the search teams! We must look in the forest. Search everywhere again. No one sleeps until he is found!" The king's orders came swiftly, and were carried out just as fast. Unfortunately for them, Wylie had taken Finnian to a secluded place that few people knew about.

"Majesties, I would also like to search for the prince," he ventured, hoping to find him and run quickly before another huntsman discovered them.

"No," the king denied, "You have lost so much today because of me; I do not want you to put yourself into danger for my sake."

"But your majesty," Wylie began.

"Do not question my orders!" Wylie had never heard the king be so stern.

"Yes, majesty," he acquiesced, distraught. How was he to get to Finnian now?

Night fell and Wylie tried to hide his desperation. The king mistook his disquiet for grief and insisted that Wylie rest.

The next day, during which the prince was still not found, the king helped Wylie plan Garret's funeral. The day after that soldiers searched all the villages in the area for Finnian and the king and Wylie held a service in memorial of the dead huntsman. The day after that the king began to lose hope in finding Finnian again, and declared his intention to adopt Wylie as his own son.

"Your majesty, I couldn't possibly accept," Wylie protested, hoping that today the king would leave him alone so he could search for Finnian.

"No, Wylie, I insist. You have lost a father, and I have lost a son. Both losses faults of mine, and I wish to do something right. If I had been at Finnian's birthday party, then he would not have run away, I would not have been in danger, and your uncle would not have died. There is nothing I can do to change these things, but I absolutely insist on caring for you in the place of your uncle." The king was immovable. Wylie had nothing to say to this, and the very next day he was officially taken into the king's household.

By the time things settled down enough for Wylie to get away, two weeks had already passed. The consensus was that Finnian had probably become some wolf's snack, and the queen revealed that she was pregnant.

Wylie only had a day and a half free, so he rode a horse, a finer one than he'd ever been allowed to touch before, and tried to track Finnian's journey. He was confident that Finnian had followed his orders and gone towards the Seven Hills, but he could find no trace of the boy anywhere. Not even his uncle had been able to follow a trail two weeks cold. Thoughts of his uncle darkened his mood considerably, and the only consolation he could find was that at least there was no sign of the kind of struggle that would have occurred if Finnian had been attacked by a wolf or a boar.

He decided to spend the night in the forest, unsure of how often he'd have the opportunity in the future. The cold, hard ground was more familiar to him than the soft beds in the palace, and he slept more soundly than he had since he'd led Finnian into the forest to die.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" The king wanted Wylie to be happy.

"No," he sighed, shrugging in an effort to seem less gloomy. "But I'll keep looking."

"If you're searching for the boar that killed your uncle, some hutsmen came to me yesterday and said they'd found it. It was dead and mostly eaten by scavengers. They didn't know what killed it, but whatever it was only wanted it dead."

"I'm glad to hear that," Wylie managed, shocked to discover that the boar he'd killed had probably been the same that killed his uncle. He felt a little better after that, but not much.

"Lord Wylie," a maid curtsied and Wylie grimaced at the formality.

"Yes?"

"The queen has commanded that you see both the barber and the tailor today. You are to get a haircut and a new wardrobe." The maid curtsied again, smiling at him bashfully. Three weeks before she would never have given him a second glance. He suppressed a sneer at the fickleness of women.

"Of course," he said instead, "Tell her majesty I'll be sure to do that."

He would be adopted as the king's son in three months, after the proper period of mourning had been observed for Finnian. They would change his name, give him a title, and attempt to educate him. Instead of Wylie the simple hunstman, they were going to make him into Brendan the wise prince.

He wouldn't inherit anything unless there were no living biological heirs, but he was more than happy with that. Wylie didn't fancy being a prince anyway. Princes were pretty and well-mannered and perfect-they were like Finnian. Wylie was none of those things. He wanted to run away and find Finnian and live forever with him.


	4. Chapter 4

~~~Spiegelein, Spiegelein an der Wand~~~

Finnian was afraid. The sun had just set and Wylie wasn't back yet. He'd promised to come back if he could, and Finnian was sure something terrible had happened.

Following Wylie's orders, he began hiking up the small trail that led towards the mountains. He wasn't used to walking very far, so he tired quickly. Wylie had warned about many Bad Things that creeped in the forest, especially at night, so Finnian stopped after a couple of hours, climbed in a tree that looked sturdy enough, and dozed.

The next day he was still tired, but decided that if he wanted Wylie to find him, he needed to go where he was told. The first few days were the hardest, getting used to walking on rocks and sleeping in trees, but he learned quickly. Finding food was a bit more difficult. He learned that berries could be a bad idea when he spent half of his second day dry-heaving. Some of the plants smelled like things he'd eaten before, and he discovered that most of those were edible. In the palace, he'd been pleasantly soft-edged, but the extra weight fell off quickly in the forest.

Halfway through the week, he finally made it to a village. He hid so that he wouldn't be discovered, but couldn't stop himself from sneaking into a cart that was filled with dried meat, potatoes, nuts, and bread. While the owners of the cart, a couple of rough-looking men, left to drink in a tavern, he concealed himself underneath the blanket covering most of the cart. From there, he ate until his stomach hurt, and then fell asleep.

A rough bump woke him, and Finnian tried very hard not to cry out. He was disoriented—he wasn't in the forest anymore. Staying very still, he realized that he was still in the cart. Apparently, the owners hadn't seen him and had left with him still there. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to stay as still as possible until he could escape. He only hoped that the cart was heading towards the mountains.

While he rode, he listened to the conversations of his two travel companions. One of them, the more vocal one, was named Donner. He cursed every third word, and as a result, Finnian felt as though he was expanding his vocabulary. Donner seemed to lose his temper at every pothole and sharp turn in the road.

Fortunately, the man with him, whom Donner called Herz, had a calm and kind disposition. He spoke so softly that Finnian could barely hear him. The things he did manage to hear were always sympathetic and kind. Herz never swore and seemed happy enough listening to Donner complain.

Finnian liked them both and was tempted to reveal himself, but he was afraid that if he did so, they might do something terrible to him. His nurse often told stories about wild men who inhabited the mountains. She said that they cursed and swore and had terrible dispositions. She also said that they did unspeakable things to little boys, but she would never tell him any more than that.

That evening when they stopped the wagon, Finnian poked his head out from under the tarp and tried to gauge how far he had to travel now. He smiled when he noticed that he was much closer to the mountains Wylie had told him to cross. Hopefully, Donner and Herz would keep going that way and Finnian could just hide until they got there.

A noise off to the side made him look over. He gasped aloud when he saw something knew he wasn't supposed to be seeing—Donner, recognizable from the red beard Herz had mentioned several times, was lying on top of Herz, big hand tangled in wavy blond hair, pressing him into the ground. Neither man had a shirt on. Herz's eyes were closed as Donner seemed to be trying to eat the slightly smaller man's neck and then his mouth.

At Finnian's sound, both men's eyes snapped to the cart where Finnian still sat.

"The fuck do ya think yer doin', ya little bastard?" Donner yelled and jumped up. Before he could make it to the cart, Finnian jumped down and ran off the path into a copse of trees. He knew that people tended to get angry when they were caught with other people and missing clothes. Not that he'd ever seen two men in that situation, but they looked like they were doing the same things his nurse and the stable-master did after Finnian's bedtime.

He ran until he couldn't breathe anymore, and then ran even farther. When he stopped, he couldn't hear or see Donner anymore. Still breathing heavily, he climbed into a tree, hugged the trunk, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Finnian was delighted to discover that he'd spent the night in a fruit tree. He recognized the fruit as one he didn't particularly like. It's wasn't a peach, it was that other one. Ap-Apricot. That was it. At the moment, he didn't care how much he disliked it, he wasn't going to turn down safe food just because of the taste. He held up the bottom of his shirt to form a make-shift sack and filled it with the orange fruit. Then he headed back in the direction of the road so he could make it to the mountains.

Before the orchard was out of sight, an angry looking man began shouting about someone stealing his fruit. Finnian ran as fast as he could without dropping the precious food. He didn't know that he wasn't supposed to take it, but now that he had it, he sure wasn't letting it go. His time of hardship was enough to soften his previously rock-hard morals.  _Besides_ , he told himself,  _if he knew it was the prince taking it, the man wouldn't mind at all_. Comforted with that logic, Finnian continued on his way.

The next day, when the apricots were all gone, he chanced upon some traveling players.

"What is this?" A tall skinny man stood, limbs akimbo, standing nearly on top of Finnian and staring down at him. Finnian's eyes widened, and his mouth refused to say anything.

"You're scaring him, Bill," an older man laughed. "Come here, young one. We mean you no harm." Finnian approached cautiously. "What brings you to this hard road all alone? Running away, eh?"

After a moment to think about it, Finnian nodded. He hadn't thought of it that way before.

"Where are you headed?" A third man, this one aged somewhere between the other two, stepped from the wagon, pale brown hair messy from sleep. Finnian pointed towards the mountains.

"Eh?" Bill looked pleased. "Us too! Would you like a ride, little one? We don't bite." Finnian still wasn't sure. They wore the bright clothes and had all the trappings of players, which his nurse had often called very bad names. She didn't say they were dangerous, like she had of mountain men, but she still didn't like them.

"We've got food, child. And a safe place to sleep. You make an old man nervous, traveling all that way alone. Won't you join us?" The oldest of the troupe held out a weathered hand. Hesitantly, wanting very badly to have food and a place to sleep that wasn't a tree, Finnian took it. The old man smiled and ruffled Finnian's black hair. "That's a good lad," he said, reminding Finnian of his father. Except this man looked at him when he said it. Finnian offered a small smile in return.

He spent the next several days traveling with the troupe. The old man's name was Chris, and he'd been a player forever. He could tell stories for hours about different royalty they'd entertained and all of the castles and palaces they'd been in. He even used to play for Finnian's father before he married the current queen.

"She doesn't like players," he told Finnian conspiratorially. "I think it's because it means people are looking at someone other than her." Finnian giggled at him. He never talked around the players, terrified they'd discover who he was and send him back. They never pressed the matter and just accepted Finnian's quiet companionship.

The middle aged man's name was Ben. He was the one who knew what was going on, and he reminded Finnian of his nurse. Finnian did whatever Ben told him and always blushed when Ben praised him for it. He was happy to be doing something for other people, instead of the other way around.

Bill was the genius of the group. He was young and ambitious and could write a play at the drop of a hat. In the evenings, between dinner and bedtime, Bill would entertain Finnian by telling him the same stories that Finnian had learned from his nurse, but Bill made them so much more interesting. He talked about the characters as though they were old friends, and he made Finnian believe that he was right there with the Great King who built the country or watching the Evil Baron conquer the West.

They stopped in a town at the foot of the mountains to play in the local tavern. Finnian was very quiet and still as they showed the story of the crazy prince who took his birthright back from the usurpers. He wondered if he would be like that prince one day and die tragically at the hands of a friend. It was unlikely; Wiley was his only friend, and he'd never kill Finnian.

During the play, Finnian caught sight of a notice on the wall. It was a drawing of him, taken from the portrait he'd sat for half a year before. Underneath, it said something about 'Searching for Lost Prince,' 'Ran Away from Home,' and 'Reward If Found.' Finnian realized he didn't look at all like he did in the palace, and certainly not like he did for the sitting, but his heart chilled at the thought of getting caught. They would send him back to his stepmother.

Before he realized what he was doing, Finnian's feet carried him out of the town and into the mountains. Anything was better than going back to her. He didn't care if he died or even if he never saw Wylie again. He resolved, with all of his seven-year old might, to never be under his stepmother's thumb again.

The mountains were more difficult to navigate than the forest had been. Still, Finnian kept on, hoping that Wylie was still okay and that he'd come find Finnian one day, just like he promised. After all, Wylie said that men in his family didn't tell lies.

Finnian lost track of time in the mountains. He would go as far as he could, until either hunger, exhaustion, or both overtook him. Then he'd find something to eat. Thankfully, the players had shown him some safe food that could be found. After that, he'd crawl into a tree to sleep, or, when trees that he could sleep in were hard to find, he would hide himself within a bush or behind a rock. When he woke up, he'd start all over again.

One afternoon, when he was tired and hungry and feeling particularly like he wanted to cry, Finnian spotted a cabin nestled on the side of one of the mountains. Even though he was afraid of being discovered, his hunger and weariness won over his caution, and he approached the house. Before entering, he did make sure that no one was home, and when the door opened without any real effort, he figured that he could go in just to see if there was anything he could eat.

Inside, things were tidy but not as clean as the palace was. Still, Finnian could tell that the inhabitants cared about not letting the place get too dirty. The first room was obviously the main room, with a large fireplace and a dining table with seven large chairs around it. The table was set with a plate and cup at each chair. Finnian didn't want to make his stealing obvious, so he took a bite of bread from each plate. The ale in the cups tasted strong, but Finnian was too thirsty to care.

When he had his fill, which took a pitifully short amount of time, he wandered into the next room. Four beds stood side by side against the far wall, the first three much larger than the last. Finnian couldn't remember the last time he laid on a bed, so he told himself he'd just lie down for a minute before leaving. He went to the farthest bed, the small one, and lay on top of the clean, faded quilt. In the moment it took him to close his eyes, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of royal banquets, warm beds, and Wylie.


	5. Chapter 5

~~~Wer ist die Schönste im ganzen Land?~~~

Keil hated hearing that he was too young. Fourteen is plenty old enough to do a lot of things! Stupid Brenner wouldn't let him, though.

"Hey! Clutz! Watch what you're doin'!" Brenner warned before pulling Keil towards him, keeping him from the path of some cascading rocks.

"Sorry, Brenner," he said contritely, shifting his pickaxe to the opposite shoulder.

"Idiot," Brenner scolded, grabbing Keil by his broad but bony shoulders and shaking. Keil twisted himself out of the large man's grasp. His light brown eyes narrowed at Brenner.

"I'm not an idiot, jackass," he shook his head, shoulder-length tawny hair whipping about dangerously. Then he yelped as Brenner grabbed him by that same hair. Ice blue eyes threatened terrible things from under auburn brows.

"Bren, cut it out," Link demanded, pulling himself from the pit of the mine. He stretched his muscled arms above him, head of brown-black hair thrown back. Keil sighed in relief and admiration. "Leave the poor kid alone."

"This brat's tryin' to get himself killed," Brenner insisted. "And then he called me a jackass for saving his skinny little ass."

"Do you need me to do anything else in the mine Link?" Keil was in love with him. The only problem was that Link was with Brenner, but Keil was convinced he could win him away. All he needed to do was get a little older, bigger, and stronger.

"Nah, it's getting late anyway. The others are all finished and will be bringing out the last of the ore from today in a just a bit." Link smiled at Keil. He knew about the boy's infatuation; it made him happy to be admired, but he didn't want Keil to get his hopes up.

Klinge was the next to leave the mine. Except for Keil, his was the slimmest build of the men he lived with. Even his face was narrow, with narrow green eyes to match. He shook some of the dirt out of his pale brown hair before reaching back to take the sacks of ore from those still in the pit.

After Klinge lifted out four full sacks, he stepped away to allow Adlar to pull himself up. Keil was jealous of Adlar's strong broad shoulders, firm chest, and trim waist. If he wasn't so in love with Link, and if Klinge wasn't so in love with Adlar, Keil might've gone for him.

"Trouble again, Keil?" Adlar laughed when Keil just grumbled.

"He can't help it, Adlar," Herz said as he brushed the dirt off himself. Donner came up right behind him.

"He damn well needs to help it," Donner glared at the teenager who, to Brenner's amusement, tried to hide from the largest redhead behind the redhead who had just been shaking him.

"As fun as tormenting Keil is, why don't we head for home? I don't know about you ladies, but I'm beat." Klinge heaved a long sigh in demonstration. Keil gave him a small smile of thanks. Klinge was always making the other guys stop teasing him without making it obvious, like Herz did. Herz meant well, Keil supposed, but the others, especially stupid Brenner, teased Keil for going to 'Mommy Herz' all the time.

On the way home, Keil was constantly reminded that he was alone. He loved the other men like family, except of course for Link, who he loved only as a fourteen year old boy can love someone. Still, when they walked home, and the others would happily mention something or do something to remind everyone that they were in love with each other, Keil felt left out. Donner had Herz, Adlar had Klinge, and Brenner, for reasons Keil didn't hope to understand, had Link. There was no one left for him.

"Troubles little brother?" Klinge slung his arm around Keil. They were cousins, not brothers, but that didn't make a difference to them. Keil just shrugged.

"It's just, well, everyone's so damned happy and in love and I'm," he paused, before deciding that he might as well finish saying what he was saying. "I'm not. Well, I'm not happy, but I am in love."

"You're still a kid. No matter how much you think you love Link, that will prevent him from acting on it. Just be happy with your youth and enjoy it while you got it. Worry about love a little later." Klinge ruffled Keil's hair and walked the rest of the way to the cabin next to him.

When they arrived at the cabin, all of them were hungry and impatient to reheat the stew that sat next to the fireplace. As Keil went to start the fire and place the pot over it, the other men got quiet.

"What's wrong?" Keil turned, looking at them quizzically.

"Someone's been here," Donner told him, inspecting the plates on the table. "We need to check the bedroom, see if he's still here." The others nodded in agreement. They would not take lightly to a thief in their home. Fire started and stew warming, Keil joined them.

"Someone's in Keil's bed," Adlar observed, sneaking to the farthest bed, candle in one hand and pickaxe in the other. Instead of crushing the head of the intruder, however, Adlar lowered his axe, his face a picture of surprise.

"Who is it? Why aren't you killing him?" Keil whispered loudly.

"It's a kid. He looks like an honest-to-blazes angel or something, though. Creepy," Adlar stepped aside to let the others see.

The small boy lay curled on his side, hand serving as an extra pillow. His long dark eyelashes brushed the porcelain cheek. Wavy black hair lay across his forehead and the pillow. His lips formed a red bow under the perfect button nose.

"Would you look at that," Klinge remarked.

"Brat may have a cute face, but he's gettin' dirt and mud all over my bed," Keil complained.

"Shut the hell up, Keil," Brenner snapped. "Poor kid looks abandoned and half starved. 'Course he's gonna get your damn bed dirty."

"I think I've seen him before," Donner thought about it for a second, before barking out a laugh. "Oh! That's right. I think he's the little bastard who stowed away in the cart when we were coming back from that damn village. Remember, Herz?"

Herz laughed, face turning pink. "Oh, yes. Poor boy. He interrupted us at an unfortunate time. I've never seen someone run away so quickly!"

"Ouch," Keil sympathized. "A cock-blocked Donner is a force to be reckoned with."

The boy stirred in his sleep, prompting the other six to give Keil dirty looks, telling him with their glares that he nearly woke the kid up. Keil just stuck his tongue out at them.

"So where are we gonna make Keil sleep tonight?" Brenner looked happy with the idea of putting him somewhere uncomfortable and drafty. He nearly choked when Donner answered him.

"I was thinkin' he could sleep with you and Link tonight. 'Course that means no fuckin' for you this evening, but your bed's got more room. And that way we'll all be able to sleep better without the damned racket you two make every night." His eyes dared his nephew to point out that Donner and Herz's bed was the biggest. Brenner wisely stayed quiet.

Keil was torn between ecstasy at spending the evening with Link and terror at spending it with Brenner. He hoped he could sleep on the edge of the bed next to Link and away from Brenner, but he didn't think Brenner would let him.

"Well, this will be interesting," Link commented optimistically. He just laughed when Brenner and Keil glared at him.

"I'm sleeping between the two of you. I don't trust you not to grope him in his sleep, you damn horny teenager." Brenner frowned at Keil, who tried very hard to look offended and like he hadn't been planning just that.

After dinner, Keil hoped that Brenner forgot about the arrangement. He hadn't. So Keil ended up sleeping on Brenner's left, while Link slept on the big man's right. Keil tried not to pout and vowed to make that brat sleeping in his bed pay for this. It was bad enough to hear the men he lived with going at it, even though they usually tried to be quiet. It was a thousand times worse having to sleep in the same bed the man he loved made love in.

He drifted off to sleep thinking of Link and Brenner and how much he wanted what they had. His dreams were surprisingly calm, full of peace and that strange and wonderful feeling of being loved.

In the morning, Keil came to himself slowly. The first thing he noticed was how comfortably warm he was. Then as he snuggled into his breathing pillow further, he wondered at how good it smelled. Finally, memories of the evening before crashed through him, making him fling himself from Brenner's chest onto the floor. Adler, who had breakfast duty this week, chuckled as he helped Keil up.

"You sure you're just in love with Link, lad?" Adler said softly, so as not to wake the rest of the sleepers. Keil ran his hands through his hair in distress.

"Yes," he hissed back, ignoring the way he wanted to crawl back in bed and go to sleep. He was just tired and cold, he told himself. That was the only reason. Sleeping next to Brenner hadn't been wonderful at all. He glared at Adler as he chuckled again, before following the brown-haired man out of the bedroom.

As the seven men ate breakfast, they heard some noise coming from the bedroom. After everyone silently nominated him as the best possible person to deal with a small child, Herz went into the bedroom. He wasn't exactly a small man, none of them were, but he was the gentlest of them.

They heard a small panicky voice coming from the bedroom, followed by Herz's calm and steady one. Then they watched as Herz led the boy into the dining room to meet them. His eyes were cautious, but they lingered on the plates of warm eggs and toast.

No one moved until Keil, feeling bad for the unkind thoughts he'd had now that the poor bedraggled kid was in front of him, walked over to the boy, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the table. He sat the hungry boy down in his place and shoved his fork into a pale hand.

"Eat," he ordered, before going to a cabinet and pulling out an extra plate and filling it with food for himself. The child, seeing that there was more than enough and not wanting to be contrary with so many large men around him, obediently started shoveling the food into his mouth. Herz smiled at Keil, who shrugged from the stool by the fire.

Everyone stopped moving when the boy gasped. They looked up to see him staring at Donner with terrified eyes.

"Don't worry about it," Herz soothed, reaching over and patting his hand. "We know you didn't mean anything by it." The kid didn't look convinced, but he slowly resumed eating, eyes on Donner.

Once breakfast was finished, instead of heading to the mine like usual, they watched Donner for a cue to start questioning the kid. They didn't mind having him around, but they weren't going to take in just anyone. Donner, especially, was known for being particular about who lived with them. When he had moved to the mountain, it had been just him and Brenner. Over time, he'd accustomed himself into taking in some runaways, but it was still his home, and he wanted to make sure anyone who lived there deserved to.

"So what's your name, brat?" Donner asked, actually trying not to be intimidating. The boy stared. "Well? Can't you talk?" He nodded slowly, looking around for support and finding it only from Keil, in the form of sympathy.

"Finnian," he said softly, staring at his empty plate.

"Like the prince?" Keil asked. The seven men all raised their eyebrows at the violent jerk that prompted from the boy. "Wait, you're not the prince, right? He's up in his palace, sittin' on gold bars, with twenty servants ready to wipe his ass at any given moment."

"Language!" Herz scolded, glaring disapprovingly when Keil just rolled his eyes.

"She tried to kill me," Finnian whispered. His knuckles paled even further on the fork. "But I ran away. Wylie told me to cross the mountains so she couldn't hurt me anymore. He said he'd find me, but he hasn't. Somehow he couldn't. But I know if I do what he told me to, he will one day."

The men exchanged glances with one another.

"So you're the prince?" Adlar kept his voice soft. He had been in the royal court of the neighboring country before he left and came to the mountains. The boy didn't look like a prince on the surface, but Adlar noticed the quality of the clothes he wore and the precision of his words. Finnian nodded hesitantly.

"Would you like to stay with us until Wylie finds you?" Herz's eyes looked softly into Finnian's, noticing the fear and weariness there. Finnian looked down and nodded slowly.

"Well, let's think of a name for him. We can't call him 'Finnian' or 'Prince,'" Klinge pointed out.

"That's certainly true," Adlar agreed, absently reaching up to brush a stray hair from Klinge's face, making Klinge and Finnian turn red.

Keil, who had finished his dinner and now stood behind Finnian, snickered at the boy's discomfort, whispering, "You'll get used to it." Finnian looked up at him with round eyes, unsure about these strange men.

"What about 'White?' He's certainly pale enough," Link remarked. The men thought about it.

"That's too boring," Keil protested, surprising everyone with his rejection of Link's idea. When he realized what he'd done, he became embarrassed. Deciding he'd already done the damage, and still believing that he was right, he continued. "I mean, it's just a color. It's not very descriptive. Why not 'Snow?' It's also really pale, but it's all, I dunno, pure and stuff. Like him."

"I like it," Finnian whispered. "They said my mother wanted a child that was snow, blood, and ebony. And she got me. Then she died. I think my mother would like the name 'snow' for me."

The seven men stared at him for a moment, decision made.

"Well Snow, you'll have to share a bed with the ba..." Donner looked over at Herz before clearing his throat and continuing. Herz smiled at him. "With Keil there until Link can make you your own. And you'll be eating on the stool until he builds your chair. Do you know how to cook?" Finnian shook his head. "Clean?" He shook it again. Donner took a deep breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Well, you'll learn. If you stay here, you gotta work. When you get a little bigger we'll teach you about mining and cutting down trees."

Finnian looked at the seven large men around him. The smallest was Keil, who would probably grow to be as big as Adlar. They all looked rough and strong, but none of them looked nearly as harsh or cold as his stepmother. And if he stayed here, he knew Wylie would have a better chance of finding him.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Snow said formally, smiling at them. Keil thought the smile was the sweetest he'd ever seen, and he wondered how in the world anyone would want to kill a kid like Snow. He promised himself that he'd be an older brother to Snow and protect him no matter what it took.


	6. Chapter 6

~~~Frau Königin, Ihr seid die Schönste hier~~~

"Brenden! Brenden!" A girl wearing an obscene amount of ruffles and lace threw herself into the arms of a proper-looking young man with red-brown curls and unfashionably tan skin.

"Alice, my sweetest little sister, you will get me into trouble with the queen if you don't behave," Brenden hugged her tightly. He'd just returned the previous evening from another trip to the Seven Mountains in search of Prince Finnian. The results had been, as ever, disappointing, but he'd made a promise.

"I'm your only little sister. And Mama won't mind as long as we don't make her look bad," Alice pointed out. For a nine year old, she was scarily observant. She had her mother's sharp green eyes and her father's brown curls. Her beauty would never match her mother's, but she would be able to stand as a beauty in her own right when she grew up.

"Still, you should practice behaving with at least a little decorum." Brenden tried to be stern with her, but he could never hold out for very long. The thing he'd missed most, living with his uncle, had been the close bonds with his siblings. Now he had a little sister in the young princess who he could lavish his love and attention on.

"Princess Alice, where are you?" Alice's tutor was a thin middle-aged woman with high cheekbones and an odd sense of humor. The princess jumped down from Brenden's arms to the floor, showing the world her pink petticoats. She skipped out of the room, grinning over her shoulder at Brenden as she left. When the tutor passed looking for Alice, Brenden just shook his head and pointed the way she'd gone.

He walked through the palace, thinking, as he always did, about Finnian. Somehow he knew that Finnian had survived the journey, although if anyone asked him how he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell them. Every time he came back from the mountains, he felt more like a failure. Next time, he promised himself, he would find Finnian. He had to. Alice would miss him when he didn't come back, but she'd survive. She was going to make a great queen one day, he was certain.

"Prince Brenden," a maid curtsied to him, looking down. "The queen would like to see you." She blushed at him.

"Thank you," he said, walking towards the queen's quarters. The maids had been blushing at him since he moved into the palace nearly ten years ago, nevermind that he'd never shown any interest in them even before he was adopted into the royal family. Even if he wasn't annoyed by their lucre-loving natures, they never would have had much of a chance. He'd always been more interested in the butlers.

Walking into the queen's rooms always felt like walking through a story book. The rest of the palace was decorated in simple, bright colors. King Ruaidhri did not like overly ornate decorations because he didn't want to waste his people's taxes on frivolity. However, for Queen Ingrid, he made exceptions. He always made exceptions for Ingrid. She was allowed to buy whatever caught her fancy to decorate her rooms with.

Passing by ornate statues and exquisite vases, Brenden shook his head. He knew, of course, that half of the items he passed had some sort of charm on them to make those walking by more favorably inclined to the queen. His mother had done some basic witchcraft when he had still lived at home, which helped him recognize which decorations were purely aesthetic, and which were actually magical symbols. Knowing, his mother had always told him, was the first step to resisting.

"Ah, my dear son," Ingrid greeted with a kind smile. "Leave me to speak with him alone."

The maids curtsied to the queen and then to Brenden before leaving the room. Brenden resisted a long-suffering sigh. Ingrid could be so trying sometimes.

"You asked to see me, Majesty?" Brenden did try to be cordial. He rolled his eyes and stood stiffly when Ingrid stood and wrapped her arms around him. When she had finished moving, he efficiently removed her from himself. "Majesty, please. We have talked about this."

"Darling Brenden," Ingrid purred, "Why do you resist me so? Am I not beautiful? Powerful? Flexible?" Her smile was sickeningly suggestive.

"You are quite beautiful, my Queen. And powerful. I don't have any desire to learn how flexible you are, however. Please," Brenden placed his hands platonically on her shoulders, "You are my adoptive mother. Try to act like it?"

Ingrid huffed and sat back down. "I don't see why you resist me so. My former lover had no complaints."

"Do you mean the lover who was hanged for treason? That former lover? Because I can assure you, madam, that I do not wish to follow in poor Christopher's footsteps." Brenden raised his eyebrow at her.

"Silly boy, Christopher was beautiful and gullible, which I adored about him, but he was nowhere near as intelligent as you are. Even though you did not receive the extensive education he did, you have far more sense and guile. You, I know, would not get caught."

"No, Highness, I would not. Mostly because I will never engage in such acts with you. I admire the king; he has been inordinately kind to me, and I will not return his kindness with treachery."

"Oh? And what do you consider killing his son, if not treachery?" Ingrid made no attempt to hide the malice in her smile this time.

"That was not my desire," Brenden said tightly. "And we both know that." Ten years, and she still brought it up every time he refused to go against the king.

"Well," Ingrid waved her hand as though to clear the air of their previous conversation, "I did not call you here simply to chat. We have a ball coming up, as you know, and I need you to go over the guest list. If there is anyone invited who you do not like, then you will need to tell me. The invitations go out this evening, so this will need to be completed post haste."

Brenden bowed and left, happy to be dismissed. He hated visiting Ingrid. Ever since he'd turned twenty-one, and Christopher had been indicted and then convicted of treason, she had been after him to become her next lover. Sometimes he fantasized about telling her the truth—that women, no matter how beautiful, held no interest for him. And even though he'd found a couple of interested butlers and stablehands, ultimately they weren't any better than the maids, as far as intentions went. Mostly, he was interested in finding Finnian and running away from this life that had been thrust upon him.

Sometimes he caught himself acting 'princely,' which bothered him. He did not want to be a prince, but ten years was such a long time. Every four months Ruaidhri allowed him to leave for several weeks to be alone. The king thought it was so he could remember his uncle, but he really used the time to hunt for Finnian. The sooner he could stop being a prince, in his opinion, the better.

He sought out the garden, as he often did when he was discouraged. His favorite place was the bench where he and Finnian had stood in the rain. Sometimes he would remember all the times he had entertained the young prince in the garden, tossing him into the air, tickling his ribs. Other times, he would think about Finnian's last words to him. I love you. I'll always love you. Brenden didn't know what he could have meant by that. He had only been seven at the time. Far too young for that. But he'd blushed and looked away.

Finnian would be seventeen in a few weeks. Old enough to think such things. Brenden wondered if the young prince ever thought them about him. He would probably be quite the sight now, with his fair skin and black hair and red, red lips. Finnian's beauty would outshine even Queen Ingrid's. He often wondered if that's why she ordered Brenden to kill him.

The herald announced the return of the king from his hunting expedition. Brenden ducked into his rooms to fix his appearance for an audience with him. Ruaidhri would be more open to granting Brenden's request if he looked presentable.

"Prince Brenden," a man-servant bowed. Brenden smiled at him, wondering what would happen if he were to flirt with this servant in front of everyone. He would definitely get a reaction from the queen, and the maids might leave him alone. "His majesty has requested you come to his private rooms."

"Of course, thank you." The servant looked at him suspiciously, no doubt because of Brenden's reputation for having only the barest of courtesy. Brenden jogged to the king's rooms, happy to see his adoptive father again.

"Brenden," Ruaidhri greeted warmly, wrapping him in a firm hug.

"Hello, sire." Brenden felt more relaxed around the king than he did around anyone else in the palace, and it showed on his face.

"How was your trip? Did you enjoy your time away from the palace?" Ruaidhri sat by the fireplace and motioned for Brenden to do the same. He put a fatherly hand on Brenden's knee and smiled into his gray eyes.

"I did enjoy my time away. Your company is always pleasant, but I confess that much of life here still feels stuffy. Despite yours and Her Majesty's best efforts, I fear I will always be a commoner at heart."

For several minutes, they sat in comfortable silence by the fire, each staring into the flames and seeing his thoughts there. Both thought about the quickly approaching tenth anniversary of Finnian's disappearance. Every year it was difficult, and this one would likely be as well.

Suddenly, the king turned to Brenden. "You look as though you've recently attempted to tame that mop you call hair. Were you coming to see me about something?" A corner of Brenden's mouth turned up.

"I am afraid so." He took a deep breath, knowing that Ruaidhri would not like his request. "I realize that I returned only last evening, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sparing me for another extended absence from the palace in a couple of weeks." Brenden didn't mention the anniversary, but Ruaidhri knew that's what he meant.

"Of course I wouldn't want you to feel a prisoner here, but it is a bit close to your return." Ruaidhri didn't say no.

"I, yes. But I am hoping that this will be the last time I require an extended stay away from the palace. Hopefully I will find the peace I have been searching for. I hope to leave in two weeks."

"I will consider it," Ruaidhri told him. "How long will you be gone? Three weeks, like usual?"

Here, Brenden winced. "Six, sire. Maybe eight. But as I said, I hope for this to be the last time."

"I do not like the thought of you being gone so long." Brenden looked away when Ruaidhri said it, trying to hide his disappointment. "However, if you can promise that you will stay closer to the palace afterward, I see no reason to deny your request." He smiled supportively at Brenden, who sighed in relief.

This time, Brenden swore, he would not return. This time he would find Finnian.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, warning about some descriptions of things involving wieners and two consenting men in this chapter. Like, in the first paragraph of this chapter. I've always intended for there to be some of this kind of content, but I'm not sure how okay ya'll are with it. If you'd like a version without the gay sex bits, let me know and I'll edit it for you. It shouldn't be too difficult, and I don't mind doing it at all.

~~~Aber Schneewitchen über den Bergen~~~

Keil felt his face burning with heat from both embarrassment and desire as he backed away slowly. Brenner, instead of looking angry as Keil thought he should, looked amused and something else, something hotter and more dangerous. Link just laughed breathlessly, and then made a little gasping noise as he lifted himself from Brenner's cock and turned around, not bothering to cover himself, and really, how mean was that?

Keil tried very hard not to look at their naked bodies, not to notice the messy oil jar next to Brenner and the evidence of its use on Link's legs and ass, not to admire the shape and color and power in both cocks. When he felt his own dick hardening at the sight, he turned and ran.

Eyes closed, he shouldn't have been surprised when he ran into something.

"Ouch, dammit Keil."

Keil opened his eyes. "Sorry Snow." Then he swallowed, trying very hard to think of something other than the scene he'd just walked in on.

"What's wrong with you? Why the hell are you running around with your eyes closed?" Snow peered up at him, squinting. Sometimes Keil wondered if Snow would have his head tilted up permanently.

"Fuck," Keil groaned, throwing himself against a tree. "Fuck! I walked in on them—on Brenner and Link."

"What, while they were fucking?" Snow scoffed. Then he laughed when Keil shot him an unamused look.

"Dammit, how am I supposed to face them now? It's been bad enough, and lately it's been getting worse. I don't even know if they're doing it on purpose. Shit." Keil began banging his head repeatedly against the tree trunk.

"I don't know about Link, but Brenner's definitely doing it on purpose," Snow told him.

"What? How do you know that?"

"Because of the face he makes after he does something. Like he's rather pleased with himself, and like he's enjoying his game far too much." Snow grabbed a handful of Keil's hair, recently cut but still almost brushing his shoulders, and pulled him away from the tree. "C'mon, it's almost dinner time and it's my turn to cook. Instead of trying to brain yourself on the tree, why don't you keep me company?"

Keil accompanied him, swearing under his breath the entire way. While he watched Snow cook, he complained about what he interrupted, but Snow saw the way he was fidgeting on the stool.

"You should've asked to join them," Snow suggested, grinning. Keil's face went blank for a few minutes before he threw a spoon at Snow's head.

"Hell no! That would be..." he trailed off, looking lost again. He shook his head violently. "Link. I'm in love with Link. Not Brenner. You damned miscreant. What did I tell you about spending time with my cousin?"

"You're just jealous because Klinge gives all the best hints to me," Snow replied, unfazed. "But I'm certainly glad now that Link made me my own bed instead of enlarging yours. You're gonna have some vivid dreams tonight." He laughed as he added more potatoes to the pot.

"I know," Keil whined, head in his hands. "I saw it. I  _saw_  it. I saw Brenner  _inside_  Link. I'm not gonna sleep well for a month. Maybe more."

"Yeah, but I wonder. Will you be dreaming of your cock in Link's ass..." He trailed off to take a sip of the broth. When Keil's face showed that he was imagining just that, he grinned evilly. "Or of Brenner's cock in yours?"

Keil started violently. Then he gulped loudly. Then he kicked Snow in the knee. "Bastard!"

Snow just laughed, rubbing his knee.

"Don't distract him when he's cooking, idiot."

Keil froze at the sound of Brenner's voice. He acted as though everything was normal and he had not just earlier that afternoon walked in on him and the love of both their lives fucking each other, naked and gasping and moaning, with Link's eyes closed and face red as he impaled himself again and again on the thick, hard, slick...

Keil growled at himself in annoyance, telling his stupid head to stop remembering it. As he tried to glare at Brenner, the cause of his discomfort, like he would on any other day, he couldn't keep his face from turning red.

"How old are you again?" Snow snickered at him. Keil made as though to throw something at him again, but stopped when Brenner's large frame stepped between him and Snow.

"Let him cook, or I'll tell Donner to give you extra shifts," Brenner warned. He grabbed Keil's right hand, which had been poised to throw a potato at Snow's head, and held it down. Keil fidgeted as Brenner made no move to remove either the potato or his hand from Keil.

"Let me go, or I'll tell Donner you were using his and Herz's oil to fuck Link," Keil shot back at him. Despite the redness creeping into his cheeks, he stared into Brenner's eyes, not backing down from his challenge.

Brenner's mouth shifted, slow and lazy, into a smile. "I didn't realize you were paying any attention to the oil. Apparently me 'n Link weren't distracting enough, then. We'll have to work harder at it next time." Then, after a deliberate caress of his thumb over the soft skin of Keil's inner wrist, he let go.

Keil glared at Brenner before hissing a "fuck you" at him and leaving. He didn't catch the implication of there being a 'next time' until he was already out the door.

From the fire, Snow snorted. "You're mean, Brenner. Why don't you just say something? Pretty sure he'll go along with it."

A shout of laughter escaped Brenner's chest, but Snow could tell it wasn't as confident as usual. "He needs to understand a few things first. Otherwise it won't work." With a smile that Snow could only describe as self-deprecating, Brenner left.

Dinner was good, as usual when Snow was cooking. For a boy who didn't know anything about physical work when he first came, Snow had real talent in the kitchen. Everyone had heard about the incident earlier, but, for once, they were being subtle about it. Snow glanced around, and concluded that, somehow, they were in on it.

Despite their good intentions, the heavy tension in the air was putting a damper on conversation. Snow generally took it as a compliment to his cooking, but the awkward way Keil held his spoon and the worried looks Klinge kept giving him told him that there was more going on here.

"So," he began loudly, hoping to call attention to the fact that he didn't like the silence. "My birthday is in two weeks. Not that any of you are particularly interested in birthday celebrations."

Adlar smiled indulgently at him. Snow knew that Adlar appreciated having someone else who understood that manners were not something invented to make people uncomfortable. He also found Snow's occasional outbursts of princely behavior endearing.

"Of course," Adlar agreed. "Would you like to do something for your birthday? We can attempt to make you a cake, but it's going to be Keil's turn that night, and you know how bad he is at baking."

"Hey," Keil protested, mostly out of habit. "Someone else could bake. Doesn't have to be me."

Herz was happy to see that Snow was excited about his birthday. Usually his mood darkened considerably around this time, thinking about the home he left and about Wylie. Always about Wylie.

"I'd be happy to bake you a cake," Herz offered. "Anything in particular you'd like?"

Snow shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. He wasn't a kid anymore; he shouldn't expect them to just drop everything and give him a birthday party. "Nah, don't worry about it Herz. I was just thinking of going into the village for my birthday. You know, since I haven't left the mountain in a while." He hadn't actually left the mountain since the first time he came there. They were all ridiculously protective of him.

Protests arose from all seven men, including Keil. Snow glared at his betrayal.

"Not just no, but hell no," Donner growled. Snow crossed his arms, feeling especially small when they all ganged up on him like that. He wasn't even terribly small for a normal man. A little short, sure, but nothing extraordinary. That's what he got for living with seven freaks.

"C'mon, guys. It's been ten years." He protested. When Donner glared, he said it again, but in a way Donner would understand. "Ten  _fucking_  years, Donner. If she was going to come after me, she would've done it by now."

"There is no  _fucking_  way you're going down from this mountain," Donner told him. "I don't care how long it's been. She's evil, and that shit doesn't just go away." And he slammed his cutlery on the table and stomped out. Herz followed him, giving Snow a reproachful look on the way.

Snow looked around for sympathy, and found none. And he thought he was sheltered living in the palace. He let his head fall onto the table with a satisfying 'thud.' "I'm going to die a virgin, and no one even cares," he whined into the wood. The men snickered, like he figured they would, but he didn't move. He was developing a plan.

"Come on, Snow, it's not that bad," Keil tried, but he had a smirk in his voice. "You're the prettiest virgin I've ever seen, at least."

"Fuck you, Keil," Snow replied, still facedown against the table.

"Not a chance," Keil answered back.

Adlar chuckled. "Yeah, he's saving that for Brenner." Then he yelped as Keil kicked him under the table. Snow turned his head to see the bright red of Keil's face, the shit-eating grins on Adlar's and Klinge's, and the speculative gleam in Link's eye. Brenner kept eating as though nothing strange was going on around him.

Link caught him watching and shrugged. Snow couldn't wait for that little issue to get resolved, although he'd miss being able to torment Keil about wanting Brenner to fuck him. Well, either miss it or be able to tease him all the more.

Klinge had clean up that evening, with Adlar helping and getting soapy hand prints all over Klinge's pants. Snow had intended to help out, if only because he felt bad about putting everyone in a foul mood, but he wasn't going to interfere with their alone time. He'd be able to hear when they were finished with each other, everyone could  _always_  hear when they were finished with each other, and then he'd go help.

While he waited on the porch of their home, he sighed. His plan would probably work, but if he went through with it they'd all get mad at him. And they'd probably all go into the village to hunt him down, which would be embarrassing. He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on his heels.

"Donner only worries because he cares, you know that, right?" Herz approached from the side. Snow shrugged but kept his eyes closed.

Heavier footsteps sounded from where Herz was standing. Snow glanced over to see Donner looking militant. "One more year, okay? We discussed it, and when you're eighteen, then we'll let you go down."

Snow looked up so he could see fully into Donner's face. The big man didn't look sorry, which was really no surprise, but he did look understanding, which was a huge surprise. He smiled a little up at the man who'd come to mean more to him than his own father.

"You mean it?" His voice was smaller than he'd like.

Sighing deeply, Donner nodded. "Yes. But we've got a hell of a lot to teach you about self-preservation before you go down there. You've learned fucking nothing since being here about dealing with people who might want to hurt you, and I know your prissy princess childhood didn't even teach you how to tell the difference between your ass and a hole in the ground."

"I've been learning stuff," Snow protested.

"That shit Adlar's been teaching you ain't worth two fucks anywhere except a palace. Klinge's gonna start teaching you knives and shit. He knows how to defend himself. So does that little asshole, Keil. If you're going somewhere without us, we're fucking going to make damn sure that you don't get yourself fucking killed. Got it?" Donner's voice brooked no rebellion, and Snow was actually happy about learning to defend himself.

Adlar had taught him some swordplay, saying that a prince, even one away from a palace, needed to know how to wield a blade (then Klinge came in, talking about Adlar 'wielding' his 'blade,' but Snow ignored that). Klinge and Keil were both sneaky knife fighters, but they'd always refused to teach Snow anything. Now, he guessed, they'd have no choice.

"Don't look so fucking happy about it," Donner groused. Then, as he walked by Snow, he ruffled the blue-black hair affectionately.

As he entered the house, Snow heard Klinge and Adlar yelp in surprise, and he remembered that he should probably have told Donner about them.

"Put some goddamn fucking pants on, you fucking cocksucking idiots!" Donner bellowed.

Herz and Snow shared a grin. "Is that all they were doing?" Herz wondered, laughing as Donner continued to yell.

"That's not too bad," Snow remarked. "Less than what the two of you were doing when I first saw you as a kid. You know, it would figure that the one time they're not making enough noise to raise the dead, Donner walks in on them."

"Stupid ass-reaming fuckers," Donner continued to yell.

"Maybe he'll give them less of a hard time about being so loud now," Herz said. He and Snow shared another giggle, before Snow took off. He didn't want to be there when Donner came back out, all prickly from catching Klinge and Adlar with their pants off. And he definitely didn't want to be there with Herz when it happened — pissed off Donner made Herz very handsy.


	8. Chapter 8

~~~Bei den sieben Zwergen~~~

Brendan found his way to a village at the base of one of the mountains. It was on King Ruaidhri's side of the border, but out of the way enough that he'd only been there a few times before. The village was small enough that he could take in the layout of it in a quick glance, which meant it was also small enough for the innkeeper to remember him from two years ago.

"Prince Brendan, ain't it?" The old man was missing most of his teeth and about half of his hair. The other half of his hair stood up haphazardly, as though it, too was trying to vacate the premises. Brendan remembered liking him immensely. .

He bowed politely, unsure of how to respond. Should he be happy to be recognized? Should he try to keep his presence quiet?

"Don't worry, your Highness," the old man cackled. "I won't be telling no one you're here. You want that nice room I have upstairs?"

Brendan smiled, relieved. "Thank you so much, sir. For both things." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly, feeling more like the low born country boy he was than he ever did in the palace. Then he placed a good amount of silver on the counter, more than enough for the two weeks he was planning on staying in that inn.

"You're a good lad," the old man observed, eyes keen. "Now how 'bout you tell me what you're looking for, and we'll see if we can't help you."

"Mind if I get settled first? I have what my father assures me is a very fine brandy, and I would be honored if you would share it with me while we talked." Brendan smiled pleasantly at the old man.

He never knew an innkeeper to turn down good alcohol, and it would make any of Brendan's questions seem less strange. Although he doubted the king had expected Brendan to use his gift on elderly villagefolk, Brendan didn't think he'd be disappointed. After all, King Ruaidhri often said that Brendan's common spirit was one of his finest qualities.

"That sounds marvelous m'lad," the old man grinned. "My wife'll have dinner ready in about half an hour."

Brendan bowed again and took his bags up to his room. He knew it was strange to the people he encountered to see him without an escort, but Brendan couldn't risk anyone knowing what his true purpose of traveling was. Besides, he always felt silly when he rode with a guard, as though everyone thought he couldn't take care of himself. The Masters of Arms in the palace had made sure that he was well-versed in 'noble' weaponry, such as the sword and lance, and the King's huntsmen, all old friends of his uncle's, had made sure he stayed proficient with bow and knife. All in all, he was not a man to be taken lightly in a fight.

He chuckled as he remembered a time when, while he was out with his guard, they'd been attacked by bandits. The guard had managed to fall off his horse and break his leg, leaving Brendan to fend for himself. By the time he finished, the bandits were running for their lives. After that, thankfully, the king had been less concerned about him travelling alone.

A little over half an hour later, after Brendan had assured that no one could spy on him while the door was closed and he was out of sight of the keyhole, and after he changed into something more comfortable and less noticeable, he found his way into the dining room. Some of the patrons looked his way, but none of them lingered on him. He allowed himself a smile of relief.

"Over here, lad," the old man called from a small square table in the corner, tucked nearly behind the bar.

Brendan nodded at him and took his seat across from the old man. "My thanks, sir. I have the brandy, as promised, but, if you don't mind, we should probably save it for after dinner."

The old man chuckled. "You're a wise lad for someone your age. My name's Soren. What'll you be callin' yourself around here? I can't imagine you'll be wanting to go by your name, and it feels a bit disrespectful to keep on callin' you 'lad' all the time."

His first instinct was to tell Soren just to call him Brendan without the honorifics, but that would still attract attention. Then he thought about going by Wylie, but he'd left that name behind when he moved into the palace. Finally, he decided on the pet name Alice sometimes used.

"You may call me Dan." The pronouncement came out more princely than he'd intended, but Soren just nodded. Dinner came out, in the form of a pot roast with potatoes and carrots. He couldn't stop his grin at the smell and sight of it. "This looks delicious. Your wife made it?"

Soren looked pleased. "She's the best cook in these seven hills," he swore. "I ain't got the heart to tell her she's wastin' her natural born gifts on an old man like me."

"Well, if she's talented enough to cook this, then I'm sure she's smart enough to have her reasons for staying. I suspect it's the company here." He winked conspiratorially at Soren.

Soren laughed. "You know, I was expecting you to be a stuffed shirt. Never been so glad to be wrong in my life."

Shrugging, Brendan reminded him, "Well, I wasn't adopted by the King and Queen until I was sixteen years old. It's been a good long while that I've lived with them, but some common manners are more difficult to hammer out than others."

"Oh, lad, I hope you never get rid of 'em," Soren said warmly, leaning over to clap Brendan on the shoulder.

While they ate, Soren told him stories of the locals, as well as a few of the mountain men who came to the village for supplies. Brendan was nearly doubled over laughing at a story about the players who nearly got caught with a mountain man's daughter and an interestingly shaped potato, when the doors banged open to reveal two large men arguing.

"Well I think they're being ridiculous," the smaller of the two explained loudly. "He's seventeen soon. He should be able to do whatever the fuck he wants." He looked to be a couple years younger than Brendan, with long light colored hair and broad shoulders. His partner, a big redhead with a neatly trimmed beard, just shook his head.

"You really think he'd last here? He's so pretty and has such a mouth for trouble, he'd be like a beacon to anyone with bad intentions. They'd eat him alive." His voice was calm, and his eyes twinkled mischievously when the smaller man huffed in annoyance.

Brendan leaned closer to Soren. "Who are they?"

Snorting, Soren told him, "They're two of the 'dwarves' who live on one of the farther mountains. They sell ore and lumber. Big 'un's name is Brenner. Smaller one's, hmmm, what's his name again? Somethin' with a 'K.' Klanger or something, maybe. Wait," he mused, squinting at the man. "No, that's this one's older brother. Something else with a 'K.'"

"Do you know who they were talking about? Someone too pretty to come into the village?" He didn't want to sound like he was too interested, but Finnian would likely be very handsome, and he would shortly be seventeen.

His host shrugged. "Not a clue. Sometimes they talk about a boy they've got at home, but they've never brought him here. From what I've heard, he's a handful of trouble with the face of an angel. But I try not to be so obvious when I'm droppin' my eaves." He cocked his head at the way Brendan was trying to overhear more of their conversation.

Brendan felt his face heat with embarrassment. This is why he hunted animals. They didn't care how he looked when he was stalking them. "Right."

"Who're you lookin' for, anyways? Someone young and pretty to take your mind off things?" Soren wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Brendan couldn't help but laugh at that. "Not exactly. I just...there was a boy I knew, a while back, and he came here. I'm looking for him." He tried to keep it vague and indifferent sounding. "Plus, like you mentioned earlier, most people at the palace are stuffed shirts. I like to get out at remind myself that real people do still exist."

"I'll keep my eyes and ears out for you," Soren told him. "But if you're hoping to meet the boy who lives with the dwarves, you're out of luck. They don't let nobody they don't know on their place."

Frowning, Brendan nodded. It was a long shot, anyway. He couldn't imagine Finnian causing anyone any trouble. He'd been too good of a kid for that. Still, in the interest of checking all his leads, which is what he'd told himself he was going to do this time, he figured he'd work his way up the mountain after leaving this village.

Brenner and K-something made their way to a table close to Brendan and Soren, and Brendan held his breath. Soren chuckled at him and kept eating.

"I still don't see why Link wanted me to come with you," K-something complained, jerking his head to get his long hair out of his face. "He knows I hate travelling with you."

"Link wants us to try to get along better," Brenner explained, still looking up to no good as far as K-something went. "Besides, Herz wants us to buy Snow a gift for his birthday. And you're better at picking out knives than Link is."

K-something blushed at the praise but tried to keep the annoyed scowl on his face.

"You said something about brandy earlier, unless I'm mistaken," Soren cut into Brendan's eavesdropping.

Brendan smiled at him and pulled the bottle from his pocket. "You're not mistaken at all," Brendan assured him.

While they drank, Soren told him about all the young men around the village who were near Finnian's age, since Brendan had mentioned looking for a seventeen year old boy. He also filled Brendan in on people who moved in and out of the area, talking more about the mountain men and travelling players.

"So I understand there's a sad anniversary coming up at the palace," Soren mentioned casually.

Brendan covered his flinch with another drink of brandy. "Seventeen years since the loss of Queen Deirdre and ten since the loss of Prince Finnian." He stared into the amber liquid, seeing wide brown eyes and remembering his promise. Abruptly, he looked back up. "It's a sad anniversary for the entire kingdom."

"You wanted to get away before the weeping started? I imagine the whole palace gets low for a while." Soren sounded sympathetic.

"King Ruaidhri orders black banners to be hung from all the walls, and he refuses to leave his rooms. Everyone's on eggshells, and no one is allowed to sing or dance or even laugh." Brendan frowned as he recounted the edicts that his adoptive father had put into place after the day they lost Finnian. "He wasn't happy with my decision to leave, but he's a good man, so he let me go."

"How's the Queen take the mourning?" The old man's voice held a note of cynical speculation.

Brendan spoke carefully. "Queen Ingrid never met Queen Deirdre, and so has no idea what a treasure we lost in her passing. Similarly, she had not known Prince Finnian for very long when we lost him, as well. But I'm sure she mourns in her own way," he finished, hoping he didn't choke too badly on the lie. She'd eaten the heart he'd brought back to her; the servants cooked it for her that night. If Brendan hadn't been in his own hellish place of grief at the time, he probably would have thrown up.

They heard scoffing from the table near them, where the two mountain men sat. "You think she gives a damn about anyone other than herself?" K-something looked at them incredulously. "I've heard about Queen Ingrid, and from what they say, she probably only mourns because it takes people's attention away from her for a while every year."

"Keil," Brenner rebuked him, glaring. "We are in her country now. We shouldn't be rude." Then he turned to Brendan and Soren's table. "I'm sorry for my companion. He's used to living in the wild, away from things like courtesy and manners. I'm Brenner, this is Keil." When he introduced Keil, he placed his large hand in the middle of the younger man's back, making his face turn slightly pink.

"I believe that everyone should be entitled to their own opinions about their rulers," Brendan told him honestly. "I'm Dan."

"Nice to meet you, Dan," Brenner smiled at him, making Keil look jealous.

"How do you know so much about the palace anyway?" Keil asked suspiciously. "How do we know you're not a spy sent from the Queen to find malcontents and take them to be executed?"

At that, Brendan couldn't help himself. He laughed until he couldn't breathe for it. "The day Her Majesty sends someone out to spy on the populace," he gasped, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. Then he grinned at the men. "I often hunt with the King." It was true, and wouldn't make them too suspicious, since the king often asked various nobility to accompany him on his hunting parties. Brendan had no illusions of appearing common anymore.

Keil didn't look satisfied, but he left it alone. They spoke briefly with Soren about a room for the night, and Brendan wondered at Soren's delight when he put them in a single room.

He and Soren stayed up a while longer, finishing the small bottle Brendan brought down with him from his rooms. Brendan didn't learn anything else of interest that evening, so he bade the innkeeper goodnight before heading up to his rooms. He'd start his search in earnest the following morning.

As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered again if he should check on the young man living with the 'dwarves.' Even if he wasn't Finnian, Brendan tended to like pretty young men with a knack for trouble.


	9. Chapter 9

~~~Ist noch tausendmal schöner als Ihr~~~

Keil grumbled all the way to their room. He didn't like the fact that all the double rooms were taken, especially since the prissy nobleman was probably making himself comfortable in a room meant for three.

"I don't trust him," he told Brenner, trying to keep his pouting subtle.

Brenner laughed. "You're so whiny tonight. Who don't you trust?"

"That nobleman. The one eating with Soren. He's probably a spy. Even though he laughed, I still think he could be. Which means that we really shouldn't let Snow down here for his birthday."

"We weren't planning on letting Snow down here for his birthday," Brenner reminded him. "But I don't think he's a spy. I think he's lonely, and bored, and that he wants to flaunt his wealth."

"Sounds like you're not too fond of him either," Keil observed. "You pissed about having to share a bed, too?"

Brenner's predatory smile made something turn over in Keil's stomach. He refused, absolutely refused, to call it desire.

"Oh I'm looking forward to it." His voice was low and dangerous, and Keil had to turn away quickly so Brenner wouldn't see the effect it had on him.

He really didn't understand this thing that had been going on between him and Brenner. Even though he thought of it as a 'new thing,' it had honestly been going on for years — almost since Snow joined them. Part of him wanted to brush it off and call it something Brenner was doing to screw with him, just like he'd always been screwing with Keil, but another part of him wanted to respond.

What made it even worse was that, while his desire for Brenner had been growing for longer than he cared to admit, his love of Link hadn't decreased at all. Now, instead of wanting one unobtainable man, he wanted two.

But he mostly still wanted Link, he told himself fiercely.

They slept on the edges of the bed, Brenner chuckling whenever Keil kicked him out of malice. The big man thought about what Snow had said, that he and Link should just tell Keil already, but he knew it wouldn't go over well. For all of his bluster and bravado, Brenner knew that Keil still wasn't ready to believe what he and Link felt for him. Not for the first time, Brenner was tempted to ask Klinge where, exactly, the rest of their family was so he could beat the ever loving shit out of them.

After what seemed like ages, Keil fell asleep, and Brenner watched his face shift as he dreamed. The angles of his high cheekbones and wedged jaw cast melancholy shadows on Keil's face, making him seem even younger than he was.

Then Brenner felt as though his heart was about to break apart as Keil reached for him, making a pitiful little sound of despair. Unable to resist, he gathered the slighter man in his arms, holding him close to his chest. He knew that Keil would yell and him and make him pay for his weakness come morning, but he also knew that it would be worth it.

"It's all right, dear heart," he whispered into the light brown hair. "Everything's all right." And Keil settled into Brenner's embrace and fell into a happy dream.

The next morning, as Brenner had predicted, Keil got angry.

"What the fuck Brenner? I'm not Link, asshole, don't just think you can treat me like your personal teddy bear in bed!" His cheeks were pink, and he tried very hard not to think about how well he always slept next to Brenner.

Brenner, on the other hand, wisely didn't mention exactly how they'd wound up holding each other the night before. "If you want breakfast, you'd better get it now. We ain't got a lot of time for screwing around." He topped it off with a leer, and a murmur of, "unfortunately."

As expected, Keil's face turned red and he stomped out of the room. "Asshole," he spat, just as he slammed the door.

"Lover's quarrel?"

Keil looked up quickly, to see the nobleman standing outside the door to the nicest room in the inn. "None of your damn business." Then he thought about it. "And he's not my lover."

The nobleman, Dan, if he'd remembered right, just shrugged. "He acts like it," was all he said in explanation. That, of course, just made Keil angrier.

"Well, he's not. So leave it. What do you care, anyway?" They were both making their way to the dining room as they spoke.

"Nothing," Dan had a smile playing around his mouth, and Keil noticed how his gray eyes seemed to dance in the dim hallway. "You two just seem…" he trailed off, glancing out the window as he tried to gather his thoughts. Then he shrugged and chuckled. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Keil hated the thought of asking some soft-handed blue blood for advice, but something about his gray eyes made him wonder what, exactly, he saw between him and Brenner. He stepped in front of Dan, blocking his way. "What?" Crossing his arms in front of him and using his full height to tower over the nobleman, Keil hoped he looked menacing enough. From the smirk on Dan's face, he probably failed.

"If he hasn't told you, then he really is an asshole," Dan answered carefully. Then he stepped around the mountain man. "Let me buy you breakfast to get your mind off it?" He sounded flirty. Keil wasn't used to people who weren't Brenner flirting with him.

Looking at the ground for a second, he felt his cheeks get a little warm. "Sure," he agreed, shrugging.

Dan laughed, but it was a kind sound. Keil supposed he wasn't so bad, after all. Probably not a spy.

"So," Dan began, leaning on his elbows as he watched Keil eat. It was a strange breach of manners, and it only made Keil think better of him. "Soren said that you and your big friend live together in the mountains."

"You asked Soren about us?" Keil's suspicions began to reform in his mind.

"Of course," Dan leaned back again, taking a sip of his tea. "The two of you were the most interesting people to come in last night. Can't blame a man for wondering about you."

Keil acknowledged that with a nod of his head. "Yeah, there's eight of us total. Seven of us big guys, like me 'n Brenner, and one little guy. He's like our collective little brother and nephew and son all thrown together. We're all pretty protective of him." And if Dan was a spy, now he knew that he would have to go through hell to get to their little Snow.

"I understand that. I have a little sister, and I tend to lose my mind a little whenever she gets herself into scrapes. Of course, she's a nine year old with a mile-wide streak of mischief in her, so that happens much more often than I'd like." Dan's smile was fond and open as he thought of his sister. Keil could tell that he loved her very much.

"Any other siblings? Or just you and a little girl?" He dug into his oatmeal, relishing the way it warmed his belly.

"That's...complicated," Dan settled on. "I was adopted by my current parents. I had other siblings, all older, before that, but I haven't seen them in over a decade." He looked into his mug of tea sadly. "They probably don't even consider me their brother any more. Last I heard, they were all married and producing babies at an alarming rate. Since none of them saw fit to tell me that themselves, I'm thinking I'm right."

A sympathetic noise escaped Keil's throat before he could help it. He laid a comforting hand on top of Dan's fingers, where they rested next to his spoon. "My folks didn't care much for me, either," he admitted. "The 'dwarves,' well, they took me in. Now they're my family, and those other people can go fuck themselves for all I care."

Dan smiled at him, and Keil had complete faith that this was a man who could never work for the Queen. His gray eyes were wetter than they should be, and his expression was heartbreakingly fragile. "Thank you for that, Keil. It," he swallowed around his emotions. "It helps."

Keil looked down, unable to take the emotion any longer. "No problem...Lord Dan? Sir Dan? What do I even call you?" He felt flustered, almost as badly as he did whenever Brenner or Link were unexpectedly kind to him.

Laughing, tension gone from their conversation, Dan said, "Just Dan, please. I get more than enough of the honorifics at home."

They finished their meal companionably, sharing friendly stories of the people they lived with. Dan had several stories of Aly, his sister, and Keil exchanged his own about Klinge and Adlar's noisy bedroom habits, and Donner's foul moods.

"This looks cozy," Brenner cut in, looming over them. The smile that usually came so easily to him was nowhere to be seen. Keil was jealous of how menacing he looked.

Something mischievous danced in Dan's eyes as he replied, "It certainly is." He stood and bowed slightly to Brenner. "If you two will excuse me, there are some matters I must attend to. Thank you, Keil, for breaking your fast with me. It was a real pleasure." The he placed reached down and gently squeezed Keil's hand, rubbing a calloused thumb across his knuckles. "I hope to see you again before I must depart," he added in a voice low enough not to be heard from nearby tables, but plenty loud for Brenner to hear.

Brenner growled, and Dan just raised an eyebrow at him before sweeping out of the room.

"I thought you didn't like him," Brenner commented, still glaring at the door.

"Changed my mind," Keil said. "He's definitely not a spy. He's lonely, like you said last night. And, well," he looked down at his mostly-finished breakfast. "I can relate."

For a long minute, Brenner didn't react. Then he put a big hand on Keil's back, with a warm thumb resting at the base of his neck. He still didn't say anything, but Keil could feel his support and comfort as the thumb began to rub distracting circles into his skin.

"Let's get going," Keil said at last. "We've got stuff to do, right?"

The shopping trip went well, but Keil kept hoping to see Dan. again. When they were at the blacksmith's, they finally saw him. He was looking at some very nice, very expensive swords.

"This is better craftsmanship than I've seen in awhile," Dan remarked, holding the blade expertly. Well, he was holding it like Adlar often held his longsword, which was Keil's only point of reference.

The old blacksmith blustered at that, trying to stay modest. "It's good to hear someone say that. And I can't help but notice that you've got no iron on you, m'lord. No finer blades you'll find than these!" Troy didn't play at modesty very well.

Smiling, still hefting the sword, Dan replied, "You are certainly right, good sir. I will consider it for a moment. Do you mind if I step in the yard to test her weight and swing?"

"Go, go," Troy ushered him out. "You'll see. It's a right fine blade, there. Right fine."

"Finally found a buyer for your fanciful waste of metal?" Brenner teased him good-naturedly.

Troy scoffed. "It's hardly a waste. It's art! But I know your lot, aside from Adlar who is a fine gentleman, wouldn't know beauty if it sliced you through your middle!" A broad grin belied his contentious words.

"You're awful quick to insult customers here, Troy," Keil jumped in, smirking. "I was going to purchase a knife from you, but it looks like we'll have to travel to the next town over. I'm sure the smith there would love to trade it for the coal we brought, as well!"

"Now now, boy, no need to get hasty," Troy chuckled, coming over to them. "A knife, you say? That brother of yours break his already?"

They all grinned because Klinge did know how to break knives better than anyone they knew, but Troy's engineering had, thus far, managed to withstand the use and abuse. When they told Troy the knife was a gift for Snow, the blacksmith grinned, eyes flashing with a promise of a good trade.

"A gift? Then you'll be wanting something beautiful, won't you? Why don't we get his lordship to help you pick something out, since I know the pair of you don't have a single artistic eye between you."

From the doorway, Dan chuckled. "I'm sure Keil knows his knives well enough to find something suitable for the young man. And, while I do love a beautiful long blade," he paused to glance down at the sword in his hand, "I prefer my knives to be more useful than anything else."

"And I'm sure his lordship has better things to do than cater to the whims of a couple of uncivilized mountain men," Brenner added, standing very close to Keil.

Tilting his head, Dan answered, "Not really. There are a couple of things I would like to accomplish during my stay here, but my father would be ashamed of me if I let something as miniscule as birth, wealth, or position get in the way of doing a good deed. As I said before, however, I'm sure Keil is more than capable, but if you would like help," now he looked at Keil meeting his eyes deliberately and allowing the corners of his lips to curve in the beginnings of a smile. "If you think there is any way I could assist you, I hope you will let me."

Keil grinned. He wasn't sure what, exactly, Dan's game was, but he liked the attention, and he definitely liked pissing Brenner off. "You're too good to me, Dan," he said, walking over and clapping the lord on his shoulder. He could almost hear Brenner seething. "You've been here for a little while. See anything good?"

Dan took Keil to a shelf along the far wall, talking quietly to him. Keil responded animatedly, obviously engrossed in whatever Dan had to say. It made Brenner sick.

"Good to see that boy doing something other than moping over your man, eh Brenner?" Troy smiled his business smile up at Brenner, who tried very hard not to growl like Donner at the man. There was no way Troy could know that Keil would never belong to that weak-wristed lord, so there was no reason to take his frustrations out on him.

Instead he shrugged mulishly, before poking at another shelf, which held daggers and dirks.

"What are you hoping your young friend will use the knife for?" Dan had somehow managed to get closer to Brenner without the big man noticing. Brenner narrowed his eyes at him, taking in the dark complexion and remembering that he had said that he hunted with the King. Possibly not so weak-wristed, after all.

"Self defense," Keil declared, standing at Dan's shoulder. "My, um, brother and I are going to be teaching him knife-fighting, so we want to get him something he can use for that."

Dan nodded. "I've never been a fan of knife fighting," he admitted. "I prefer to be a little farther from my opponent than that typically allows. I did kill a giant boar with a knife once, but that was more bad planning on my part than any skill."

"Hmm," Brenner kept looking at him. "You're lucky you're alive."

"Don't I know it," Dan agreed, shaking his head at his own near miss. "I hope your friend doesn't have to do that, but it's good to be prepared." He lowered his voice and made sure Troy wasn't in hearing distance. "That's why I'm looking to buy the sword, but don't tell the smith just yet. I know he's going to fleece me a little, but I'd like to keep it at a minimum."

Despite himself, Brenner felt himself beginning to like the man. Then Dan touched Keil to remind him about the knife they'd been looking at to show Brenner, and his opinion changed again. Damn nobleman.

"Here, Brenner," Keil unwrapped the knife from the leather binding it. "It's got a good enough heft to allow for throwing it, should Snow ever need that, and it should hold an edge for a while. Adlar's already taught him about keeping a blade in good condition, and you know how Donner is about our knives at home, so I think he should be able to handle it."

The blade was solid, with a wicked skinning curve at the end. Brenner tested it against his thumb and made a small sound of approval. Steel so smooth and polished that it gleamed even in the dim light of the blacksmith's shop made up the hilt, which would protect Snow's hand should he need to stab something with it. It was the handle, though, that had caught Keil's eye. The wood itself was nearly black, with a slight purplish tint to it, and a craftsman had carved a delicate rose into the handle, with the base of the stem just touching the hilt.

"Yes," Brenner whispered, remembering what Snow had told them that first day. Snow himself was truly as red as a rose, as black as ebony, and as white as snow, and this knife would suit him like none other. "Absolutely."

"I see you've made a decision," Troy sounded thrilled. "And it seems I've misjudged you, Brenner. You do know art when you find it! That's a rare piece, made from exotic materials. I hope you've brought enough ore to cover its cost!"

Keil scoffed at that, but paused when he saw Dan's serious frown. "How much ore is this knife worth?" Keil asked incredulously.

From the way Troy's eyes twinkled, it was a lot.

"How about this," Dan interrupted. "They give you the ore equivalent to the price of, let's say, "he picked up a lovely dagger that was clearly meant for a weapon. "This dagger. And I will pay the initial price you quoted for the sword. I get the sword, and they get the black knife."

Troy sputtered. "Your lordship, although I'll admit that the dagger there is very nice, it's nothing on the rose knife! I'll go out of business making deals like that."

"Oh, I agree, the rose knife is very fine. But the sword is not quite as fine as the price you've given me for it." His eyes were hard, but not unkind.

Troy blustered for a few more moments before giving in. Brenner tried to protest, but Keil looked at him so pleadingly that he could only nod his acquiescence. The three of them left the shop together.

"That was incredible, Dan," Keil cackled, carefully wrapping Snow's knife and stashing it in a belt pocket.

Brendan smirked. "It was nothing. You get used to arguing people down in the city. Glad I could be of service."

"Well, it was a hell of a lot better than I could do," Keil continued. "And you didn't have to pay the difference. We're indebted to you, that's for sure. Aren't we Brenner?"

Instead of responding, Brenner glared at the pair of them.

Keil rolled his eyes. "He's very grateful, I'm sure," he assured Dan.

"Of course he is," Dan agreed behind a knowing smirk. Then he reached over and clapped Keil on the arm in what could be construed as a friendly manner, if he hadn't let his hand linger just a little longer than usual.

Keil's breath stuttered for a moment, unused to any sort of physical affection that wasn't brotherly. He smiled at Dan and walked a little closer. When Brenner growled at the pair of them, Keil snorted.

Brenner needed to gather supplies and food for the dwarves, and he had intended on letting Keil wander the town alone while he did so. Now, with Dan clinging to his boy, he insisted on having Keil come with.

"So I guess we'll see you around," Brenner told Dan coldly.

Dan looked like he wanted to tag along, if only because he seemed to enjoy riling Brenner up, but he nodded and saluted them with two fingers off his brow. It was an extremely low-born action, which puzzled Brenner, but Dan was gone before he could say anything about it.

"I don't trust him," Brenner told Keil darkly, resisting the urge to touch the places Dan had touched, to cover them with his own hands and erase the nobleman from Keil's body.

Keil laughed. "I don't know why you're being so weird about him, Brenner. So he's a little flirty. It's not like I have anyone to go home to." He shrugged and peered up at Brenner. "And I am twenty-four years old, you know. I don't see why I can't tussle with someone while I have the chance."

"Link wouldn't like it," Brenner told him quickly, which surprised Keil. He refused to say anything else, except to assure him that tupping the nobleman would upset their love.

Shopping took most of the day, and they saw Dan around the town several times. He was always talking to someone, obviously looking for something in particular, but he only nodded and grinned whenever he saw them. Brenner was annoyed at the knowing way the young Lord smirked at him, but he was happy enough that the man kept his distance that he didn't say anything about it.

They headed back up the mountain that evening, neither one of them wanting to spend any more time than necessary away from Link. And if Keil enjoyed the evening they spend sleeping in the cart, pressed together because of the lack of space, well, no one had to know about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for what I've posted at FictionPress. Comments are my crack; and the more you post, the more I'll want to post, in order to coax you into posting more comments. It's a vicious cycle of creativity.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the forest, Snow meets Dan, the nobleman Keil and Brenner had told him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another chapter! I didn't write down a little plot inspiration I had the other day, and so I've forgotten it since then, but hopefully that won't slow me down. Trying to build the relationship between Snow and Brendan. Please let me know how you think I did with this. And if you see any typos or mistakes, please let me know.

~~~Spieglein, Spieglein. an der Wand~~~

Snow sighed as he looked over the mountains from his tree-top vantage point. The view was beautiful and marvelous, but all he could think about was whether Wylie would like these woods as much as the woods near the palace.

Sometimes he missed him so much that he ached to the center of his soul.

Movement in the direction of the village caught his eye. Brenner and Keil had returned that morning, which had been entertaining if only because of how shy Keil was acting. They'd talked about a nobleman in the town, one who had been looking for something in particular, and who might be venturing into the mountains.

The rider stopped beneath Snow's tree, unaware of the young man watching him from above, and pulled out a well-worn map. Small black 'x's marked off dozens of sections of the Seven Mountains, and Snow watched as he drew a pencil from his satchel and crossed off the nearby town.

"Where did you go?" He sounded frustrated and so, so sad.

The man was good looking, sat well on his horse, and had an honest tilt to his mouth. And for some reason, Snow disliked seeing him look so sad. He decided to do something about it. Grinning mischievously, Snow called down, "Well, whoever it is probably isn't going to answer you in the middle of the woods."

He cackled as the horse startled and the rider swore and whipped his head up to see who it was that spoke to him. Snow noticed that he looked very well-to-do, from the quality of the horse and tack to the thickness of his beautiful cloak and the way his hair shone from good food.

Snow scaled down the tree, ignoring that part of his mind that told him not to trust strangers. It sounded like Donner, and he only listened to Donner when he had to.

"Who are you?" Snow asked baldly. The nobleman opened his mouth to answer, reconsidered, and tried again. And wasn't that interesting.

"Dan. Who are you?" His tone of voice fit someone Snow's age, not someone probably ten years his senior.

"My name is Snow, m'lord. I'm the Elrking of this mountain, sworn to protect it from nosy nobleman and those with bad manners." He grinned and swept into a jaunty bow.

Dan snorted. "You're certainly pretty enough to be a fairy king, but I always thought the Erlking would be older. And taller."

"Fuck you," Snow replied cheerfully.

"Well, if you're offering," Dan trailed off, blatantly looking Snow over from his toes to his hair. A leer spread across his lips, and he cocked an eyebrow suggestively at Snow.

Snow felt his face, still fairly pale despite all the time he spent in the sun, flush a dark red. He spluttered, then gathered himself enough to splutter. "I am not offering!" He crossed his arms over his chest and backed around the tree.

Dan laughed so hard Snow was afraid he'd fall off his horse. "Did I scare you, little fairy? Don't worry, I don't despoil virgins." Then he winked at Snow. "Unless they ask nicely."

"I'm not scared," Snow bluffed. "I just—you're not supposed to proposition someone you've just met!"

"I don't usually. You're a special case." Dancing gray eyes continued to watch as Snow fidgeted and squirmed under the attention. No one had ever flirted with him before; how was he supposed to know how to handle it? Inwardly, he cursed Donner and Herz, since they were the ones who never let him interact with any outsiders. If he'd gone to the village on a regular basis, then he wouldn't be so flustered by Dan's flirting.

He ignored the possibility that even with more exposure to flirting, he still would have been flustered by the handsome nobleman smiling and just  _looking_  at him like that.

"Yeah, sure," was all Snow could think of to respond. Dan's smile softened, and he dismounted, but made sure to stay on the other side of his horse. Snow didn't like being so obviously handled, but he appreciated the consideration.

"I'm looking for someone. Will you help me find him, Snow?" Dan looked cautiously helpful as he asked.

Snow thought about it. "I really shouldn't," he decided. "The dwarves won't be happy if they hear I'm talking to strangers."

"Oh, so you're the one they were talking about!" Dan grinned happily. "I was wondering if I could meet you. Keil spoke very highly of you."

"I doubt that," Snow scoffed.

"No, he did. And Brenner did as well, when he wasn't trying to glare me to death." Dan looked pleased with having been on the business end of Brenner's anger.

"That's surprising," Snow told him. "Brenner's usually one of the calm one. Well," he considered how he might be seen without having Donner to contrast with. "He's calm for his family, anyway. The only people he really gets riled around are Keil and Link."

"Who's Link?" Dan asked, smiling pleasantly. It really wasn't fair, how good he looked. His gray eyes were keen and bright, even in the shade of the trees.

"Link is Brenner's, uh," Snow didn't actually know how to call him. He settled with saying, "he's Brenner's. And Brenner is Link's."

Dan frowned. "And where does that leave Keil?"

"Why does it matter to you?" People didn't care about the dwarves. Snow knew that, as surely as he knew anything. They humored them, took their payment, but dared not stray too close.

"Keil seems like a trustworthy friend and an honorable man. If Brenner already has a lover, then it's not fair to keep stringing Keil along. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have stopped with just flirting." Dan crossed his arms and leaned on his horse. "Keil's certainly easy enough to look at," he added with a smirk.

"It's not like that," Snow protested. "Keil's been in love with Link for more than ten years. And Brenner's always had a soft spot for Keil. These past few years, well, the three of them seem to be drawing together. The way they look at him sometimes…" he trailed off, looking down at his hands. "You can tell they really love him."

"How does someone as young and fresh as you know so well about what love looks like?" His words were scoffing, but another emotion lay under them.

Snow shrugged. "Lots of ways. Even if I weren't in love with someone," in love with my Wylie, he didn't say, "I've seen enough of it to recognize the signs. Donner's temper can fell the bravest and the strongest, but he would rather die than hurt Herz. Adlar could go anywhere and do anything, but he'd rather be a poor lumberjack than live a moment without Klinge. And Link, well," he pressed his smile into the bark of a tree before turning to look at Dan, to make sure the nobleman understood.

"Link is clever and quick and cruel when he wants to be, but when he's with Brenner or with Keil he's still clever and quick, but he's so kind. His eyes are brighter, his smile is truer, and his words are sweeter. And when it comes to keeping them safe, even big Brenner, he's absolutely ruthless."

Dan watched him closely. "You said 'if you weren't in love.' Are you? Are you pining for one of your rugged mountain men?"

Snow didn't realize that a small sweet smile had stolen over his face while he shook his head. "I love them like family, more than I ever loved my own family, but I'm not in love with any of them. I love someone else."

"Tell me about this person," Dan prompted, approaching him to better see the beauty of this young man in love. He leaned on the tree next to him, looking down at the way the dappled sunlight danced across Snow's face and along the line of his collar bone.

"He's brave and loyal and kind," Snow said. "Handsome, of course, but not deliberately. Funny and sweet and careful. And he," Snow bit his lip, making himself believe. "He always keeps his promises. Even though it may take a while."

While Snow stared at the ground, pouring his belief into Wylie, Dan leaned in close enough to touch him. Snow startled when Dan rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Sounds like the perfect man," he remarked. "A lucky one, at any rate."

"Why do you say that?" Snow peered up, not knowing how delicate his neck looked stretched back.

Dan swallowed hard. "Because he's got you," he said. He reached out as though to caress the side of Snow's face, but stopped himself. "And if he doesn't tell you how lucky he is every day, then he's obviously not very smart." He tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but Snow's lips trembled with emotion.

"Snow?"

"I haven't seen him in so long," he confessed. "He told me he'd come for me. Promised, and he always keeps his promises, but I'm so worried." He whispered the last word, afraid that if he said it too loudly he'd never see Wylie again.

Dan rested a warm palm against the side of Snow's head, fingers brushing dark hair. "I can't think of anyone who wouldn't face down the very jaws of death to be with you. If this man is really as good a man as you say, as honorable and brave, then he'll come for you."

"Thanks, Dan," Snow sniffled, leaning into the physical comfort. "You're very kind."

Dan snorted. "Hardly." His face was dark as he looked past Snow into his own nest of demons.

"Who were you looking for, by the way?" Snow rubbed his cheek against Dan's hand, like a cat seeking affection.

"What?" Dan pulled away stiffly.

Snow straightened and smiled up brightly at Dan. "Earlier, right after you propositioned me, you mentioned something about me helping you find someone. You seem like a nice enough man, for a noble anyway. Maybe I can help. We just can't tell the dwarves about it." He winked impudently.

"A young man," he answered cautiously. "He's the same age as you. And he would have come this direction about ten years ago. Have you heard anything about such a person?"

Something hard and cold settled in the pit of Snow's stomach. Dan could easily be asking about him. He had run away from home less than two weeks shy of ten years before. Why would a nobleman be looking for him in the mountains? Who could have possibly sent him, aside from the queen?

"I, uh, I don't think so," Snow answered quickly, rubbing suddenly sweaty palms against his pants. "Why are you looking for someone like that?"

Dan narrowed his eyes at him. "I am obligated to do so," he said slowly. "Why are you concerned about it?"

"Concerned?" He laughed, too loudly. "Who's concerned? We just don't like nosy people in these parts." Snow clammed up, the intimacy of the moments prior sloughing away.

"You just said you'd like to help me!" Dan huffed in frustration. The young man's eyes widened in shock at the outburst, and he put extra space between them. Dan was instantly apologetic. "Sorry, but I've been looking for this boy for a very long time, and I need to find him. So if you can help me, please, please, tell me. And if not, that's fine, but I need to keep moving if that's the case."

"Well, I, um," Snow stumbled. Part of him wanted so badly to trust this man, but he was so scared.

"The fuck is going on here?" Donner stood on the trail, face beginning to flush with anger.

"Oh, hey Donner," Snow smiled at him, so grateful for the big man's presence. Donner always knew what to do. He jogged over and gave the man a half-hug, ignoring the strange look he got in return.

Dan smiled pleasantly at Donner. "I've heard your name mentioned, but I'll be honest, you're much larger and scarier than I imagined."

Of course, that pleased Donner. "Damn right I am. Now what the hell are you doing in this part of the mountains? Because we don't need any fucking strangers nosing around in our damn territory."

If his profanity offended Dan, the nobleman did a good job of hiding it. "I'm sure. As I was telling Snow here, I'm looking for a young man who went missing ten years ago. He'd be about Snow's age. Would you mind helping me, please?"

Donner was skeptical, but he ended up nodding slowly. Snow gaped at him.

"But, Donner, you said — "

"I damn well know what I fucking said, you little asshole. But this is my fucking land, and I will do whatever the fuck I want to on it. And I want to talk to this prissy little mother-fucker about whatever damn business he has in my fucking territory. Understand?" He wasn't actually that mad, but from the look on Dan's face that wasn't apparent.

Snow nodded. "Okay Donner. I trust you." Which made Donner smile and ruffle Snow's hair. They weren't usually terribly affectionate toward each other, but Snow knew that Donner, and all the dwarves, loved him.

And if Donner was okay with Dan coming to the cabin, then Snow was okay with it. After all, Donner's voice was always the voice of caution and reason in Snow's head. It made sense that he would know what was best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what'd you think? Good? Awful? I'll be honest - I had to rewrite part of this multiple times, and I'm still not sure it's great. But onward and upward! Comments/Kudos/Bookmarks are my crack. Feed my addiction. Feeeeeeeeeeed iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendan visits the Dwarves' cabin and gets interrogated as to why he's been snooping about Snow. He and Snow spend a little more time together, while the Dwarves figure something out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, friends! Sorry for the delay. The holidays are hell on my free time. Hopefully ya'll like this chapter. It's not exactly everything I want it to be, but it'll have to do.

~~~Wer ist die Schönste im Ganzen Land?~~~

Brendan was nervous. Everything he had heard about the 'dwarves' suggested that they did not like strangers. Even Keil had intimated that anyone snooping around the mountain would be unwelcome. He had come anyway, but he did not really expect to run into anyone.

Nothing could have made him expect Snow.

The boy (young man, he reminded himself) seemed to have no clue as to his own allure. He jokingly called himself the Erlking, but he did not appear to know how bewitching his own face was. How badly he could make a man want to take  _him_  away.

If he had not declared himself to be in love, Brendan would have stolen him right then. Finnian would need a friend, he reasoned. And it had been so long since Brendan had found anyone worth keeping.

And the way he leaned into Brendan's touch, like he was starved for physical affection, sent Brendan's mind tripping down dangerous trails. Would he lean into a caress down his back? Would he arch into a tease of his nipples? What about broad fingers, stretching him open?

"Careful," Snow warned, gesturing toward a tree root attempting to trip him up.

"Sorry," Brendan mumbled, blinking to clear his mind. Donner's eyes were dark as he glared, and Brendan felt himself flush at the realization that his thoughts were so clearly writ across his face.

They made it to a cozy looking cabin in a clearing after an hour or so of walking.

"That was farther than I thought it would be," Brendan admitted.

Donner glared at Snow, who looked mildly sheepish. "A certain little bastard is supposed to stay within a closer distance to the fucking house, but he's dead set on being a mother fucking pain in my ass even on a good day. It's almost as if he's just fucking waiting to be killed in the goddamn wilderness."

"Sorry, Donner," Snow mumbled. "I didn't realize I'd gone so far."

The harsh glare softened to the point that even Brendan could tell the big man was just glaring out of principle. "Don't let it fucking happen again, dammit," he growled affectionately.

"Shit," Snow cursed suddenly. "Was it my turn to cook?"

"Yeah, you little fucker," Keil yelled from inside the cabin. "Lucky for you, I am kind and generous and did the work for you. Expect me to collect on the debt soon."

He flung open the door and threw a hardened potato at Snow's head. Then he noticed their visitor.

"Dan! I didn't know you were coming this way." He grinned, then he looked suspiciously at Donner. "Wait, why are you here? Donner, he's a nobleman. You can't kill him; it would only attract attention from the palace."

" _That's_  your reasoning?" Brendan's voice was higher than was probably considered manly, but the cavalier way they talked about killing him was worrisome.

A broad-shouldered man with sensibly cut brown hair and patrician features suddenly stood just to Brendan's right, in exactly the right position to keep him from mounting quickly to get away.

"We don't like people who come snooping around our home, or around our little Snow." His accent was smooth, if slightly foreign, and he spoke with menacing promise. "Usually those who are stupid enough to do so don't live long."

"If he was last seen in the village, we can always make it look like he was mauled closer to the base of the mountain," Brenner said calmly from the side of the house. "There're lots of dangerous creatures down that way."

"Um, if me being here is a problem, I can just leave," Brendan offered. "Really, it's no trouble."

"Nonsense," a slim man who resembled Keil spoke from a path leading from the cabin into the forest. "It's no trouble at all. We just want to talk to you for a bit."

"Wait, what are all of you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the mine?" Snow stood in front of Brendan. He looked askance at the man standing too closely to Brendan, rolled his eyes, and began shoving him toward the cabin. The man did not budge. "Seriously, Adlar?"

"Brenner said he was asking about you in the village," the broad-shouldered man, Adlar, Brendan presumed, explained to Snow. "We need to know why."

A gentle-looking giant with wavy blond hair wrapped an arm around Snow's shoulders. "It's for your protection, little one. Please let us do this."

"Fine," Snow agreed grudgingly. "But please don't kill him? He seems really nice."

"He  _is_  really nice," Keil pointed out. "I'm with Snow on this one. Do what you have to, but avoid doing any physical damage, huh? I like him."

Brenner growled at that, and most of the men around rolled their eyes. Apparently the big redhead's attraction to Keil was common knowledge to everyone. Snow met Brendan's eyes and they shared a grin. Then Snow grimaced apologetically at him before opening his mouth.

"Yeah, you assholes. You know how hard it is for Keil to find people he likes outside of the mountain. Poor guy's lonely up here!" He directed the last part of that statement to an as-yet quiet man standing off to the side. The man looked crafty and strong, and he held a whittling knife in his left hand. At Snow's statement, he frowned, looking between Keil and Brendan.

"Enough," Donner growled. "We won't hurt him unless we have to. Bren, Adlar, Klinge, you bastards come inside with me to talk to him. Keil, you son of a bitch, you stay out here with Link. And Snow," he said to the youngest of them, who was trying very hard to look innocent. "You stick close to Herz and don't fucking do anything stupid, you hear me?"

"Yes, Donner," Snow said winningly.

With that, Adlar grabbed Brendan by the arm, hard, and dragged him into the cabin.

"Ow, damn," Brendan complained when the big man finally let him go. "Shit, I would've come with you without being pulled around like that."

Adlar's smile was not kind. "I know."

"We're a little protective of our own," Klinge explained. "Especially Snow, like Adlar said outside. All we want is to know why you're so interested in him."

"I'm looking for someone, like I already told Brenner and Keil. By the way the villagers described Snow, I thought it might be him." He shrugged. "That's the only reason I was asking. Truly."

"And do you think Snow is the person you were looking for?" Donner's expression, beyond his default of being vaguely pissed off, was impossible to discern.

"I don't think so," Brendan admitted. "He's close — if he were a little more," he stopped himself. Describing Finnian would alert them to who, exactly, he was looking for, and he did not want to put his friend in any danger. "Anyway, I don't think it's him."

"You seemed pretty fucking interested in him when the three of you walked up. Just like you seemed awful interested in Keil when we were in the village. Got a thing for younger guys, Lord Dan?" Brenner sneered.

At that, Brendan rolled his eyes. "If you'd make a move on your Keil, I would not have nearly as much fun flirting with him. As fine as he looks, I do not think I would mind being a means by which he attempted to forget about you." His grin was all teeth.

Klinge laughed. "He's certainly caught to your game, Brenner. I wish the pair of you'd stop teasing him, as well. He deserves better, you know."

"We're not here to talk about fucking Keil," Brenner hissed.

"I don't fucking want to think about anyone fucking Keil," Donner interrupted. "What I want is to figure out what this high-born asshole wants with our boy."

Brendan thought about informing them that he was not, in fact, high-born. When he fidgeted at the descriptor, he felt Donner's piercing eyes taking him apart. Maybe he already knew. His parentage was not exactly a secret, and there had been portraits of him spread around the kingdom after his adoption.

"He's just," Brendan ran a nervous hand through his hair, a habit he had never been able to break. "He's beautiful, you have to see that. Anyone would want him." He looked up at them, then met Donner's eyes. "But I'm busy looking for my Fi— my friend — and I could not devote the time to Snow that he truly deserves."

Donner exchanged a look with Adlar, whose dark eyes widened in realization. "What color are your eyes?"

Brendan looked over at him, puzzled. "Gray?"

"And your hair is reddish brown," Adlar commented, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Damn, Donner. You may be right."

"Shit," Klinge exclaimed, "Does Snow know?"

Donner chuckled. "Doesn't seem to. Dumbass kid, too blind and stupidly devoted to see what's in front of his fucking face."

Brenner just narrowed his eyes further at the nobleman. "If he's not good enough, he's not good enough."

"Of fucking course," Donner replied, rolling his eyes. "Get your fucking brother in here, Klinge. I want to eat my damn dinner sometime before midnight."

Klinge chuckled and left the building, presumably to get Keil.

"I don't suppose you gentlemen will tell me what in the world you're talking about," Brendan mused aloud.

"You suppose correctly," Adlar informed him. "Now tell me of the state of the palace. The villagers we trade with have decent information, but I am sure yours will be more accurate."

"Why do you want to know? You're nearly outside the King's sphere of influence." At Adlar's frown, Brendan was quick to add, "But I would love to tell you anything you need to know. Or want to know!" Damn, but the man was scary. He looked like he knew how to use the sabre he wore at his side, and as good as Brendan was with his own sword, he recognized the grace of a skilled fencer in the way Adlar moved. That was a fight he would not win.

Brendan sat with Adlar at the long table while Keil and Snow puttered around the stove. Snow snuck glances at him periodically, which only served to make Brendan want to snatch up the boy (young man, dammit) and press him into the nearest flat surface.

Once Adlar had gotten all the information he wanted from Brendan, which included some very thoughtful questions that belied time spent in some sort of court, the prince gratefully stood and explored the small cabin. The bedroom was the most interesting part — three large beds took up most of the space, while two single beds stood at the end.

"I hope they didn't scare you too badly," Snow ventured, walking cautiously toward him. "It's like having seven fathers, but somehow worse."

"They obviously love you very much," Brendan allowed. "Does your lover meet with their approval?"

Snow's face flushed a remarkable shade of red. Brendan could see his neck turn pink as well, and he had to stop himself from thinking about how far down that lovely shade went.

"He's not my, my  _lover_ ," the young man mumbled. "That implies that we've actually," he stumbled. For someone who spoke so vulgarly to his 'dwarves,' Snow was having a lot of trouble.

"Made love," Brendan suggested, feeling a wolfish grin overtake his face when Snow nodded and refused to meet his eyes. "I'm going to have to reiterate that he does not sound terribly bright."

"I haven't seen him in ten years!" Snow looked wide-eyed and flustered. It was a good look on him.

"Ten...how old are you?"

"Seventeen," he admitted, staring off to the side. "And so the dwarves have never met him. But I'm sure they'd love him. He's wonderful."

Brendan stepped closer to Snow than he knew he should. "Snow, if you were only seven when you saw him last, how do you know you really love him? Ten years is a long time to build someone up in your mind. It's not exactly fair to either of you."

"I know you think it's silly," Snow finally met his gaze. "But I know what I feel. And I know him."

The fierce look on Snow's face made Brendan's heart speed up. Heavens above, but this kid was beautiful. Brendan could not stop himself from running two fingers along his flushed cheek.

"And I don't suppose anyone else has a chance?" His palm cupped the side of Snow's face without consulting his brain first. The pale skin flushed once again, and Brendan felt something fierce zing through him when Snow's eyes went dark and heavy-lidded.

"I, uh—" Snow swallowed, but didn't pull away. "N-no, just, um, just him." He still didn't pull away.

Brendan leaned slightly closer. "So you do not want me to kiss you right now?" Snow didn't reply as Brendan continued to bring his face down until their lips were inches apart.

"Well?" Brendan whispered.

Snow blinked slowly. "Well what?"

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Snow's breath hitched just a little at that. "I really want to kiss you," Brendan admitted.

"I want," Snow parted his lips, then pulled away. "No." He shook his head and ran his hands over his arms. "I only want him to kiss me," he insisted, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

"Let me know if you change your mind," Brendan told him, trying to hide his disappointment. Damn.

A gruff voice spoke from the doorway, "If you're fucking finished…" It was Donner.

"Shit," Brendan said under his breath.

Snow left the room, still unsettled by the near-miss, but Donner stopped Brendan before he could leave.

"The fuck did you think you were doing?" He didn't sound too angry. Odd.

Brendan coughed. "I figured I had to try. Like I said before, Donner. He's beautiful. One of the most beautiful people I've ever seen, and I see Queen Ingrid almost every day."

"Nothing beautiful about evil," Donner said darkly.

With a humorless chuckle, Brendan replied, "Yes, but until she does something unforgivable, and actually gets caught, she will still be known as the Beauty of the West." When he realized what he'd just said — and what it implied about his feelings for the queen — Brendan backpedaled. "I, uh, I mean, whatever are you talking about? Um…"

Donner threw his head back and laughed, drawing the attention of the other seven men in the room. "You are fucking hilarious, Lord Dan," he informed him, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him wince.

"Just Dan, please," he said weakly.

Throughout dinner, he felt all of them watching him, and he was painfully aware of every bit of iron the men carried. Adlar kept a steady hand near his sword. Klinge had seemingly endless knives that he used for various tasks, up to and including bored fiddling. Link threw around hand axes like they were skipping stones. Even gentle Herz kept a very pretty dagger strapped to his thigh.

The eyes he felt the heaviest were Snow's. The young man watched him warily, but with just enough hunger to make Brendan's blood sing. It would be so easy, too easy, to convince the young man to let Brendan take him to bed. He was obviously untouched, unspoilt, and Brendan knew just how he wanted to make Snow yell.

But Snow wanted to keep himself for his childhood love. How could Brendan take that away from him?

That night, Snow chose to bunk with Donner and Herz while everyone pretended not to notice how disappointed Brenner, Link, and Keil were that Keil didn't have to share. Brendan wasn't sure what dynamics were going on there, but he felt bad for Keil just the same.

Just before Brendan fell to sleep, he heard Keil whisper to him, "If you're really him, you should say something. He's been waiting for so long." But before he could puzzle the statement out, sleep took him.

The next morning, for some reason the dwarves asked him to stay and rest for a while. As much as he wanted to spend more time with Snow, he had to find Finnian (and he was terrified of the seven dwarves). So he said his farewells and headed back down the mountain, already planning on which towns to check next.

"Dan!" Snow ran after him, well out of sight of the cabin.

Dan turned, then dismounted when he saw how desperate he looked.

Snow threw himself into Brendan's arms, and the prince held him tightly. Pulling back just a little bit, Snow pressed a soft kiss right where his mouth met his cheek.

"If I didn't already have him," he said, strangled.

Brendan swallowed heavily. "I don't think I've ever been so jealous of a man I've never met," he admitted. "Will you ever give up on him? If he doesn't come for you in five years? Or it ten? Can I come back here and have you for myself? I would give you anything of myself. Everything." Even as he admitted it, he was shocked at the truth of the statement. He only met Snow briefly, but he'd seen enough of his beauty, both of his body and his soul, that he knew he was worth everything Brendan had to give.

Snow seemed to consider it, before shaking his head sadly. "I'm so sorry, Dan. You seem wonderful, but…" he trailed off. "I won't settle for anyone but him."

"Then I hope he finds you soon, Snow. You deserve all the happiness you can get."

And Brendan choked back his disappointment, mounted up again, and rode away. He did not allow himself to turn around to watch for Snow. If he did, he may never leave.

He had to find Finnian. That was his goal. He had a promise to keep, after all.

~o~o~o~

At the palace, a repaired mirror was being unpacked and sent up to the queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested in beta'ing for me, I'd be eternally grateful. I've read over it a couple of times, but there are probably a few things I missed. As ever, if you see something wrong/bad (and not in a good way), please let me know.
> 
> Also! I'm posting another chapter of my "Tales of the Dwarves" today, both as a sort of penance for keeping ya'll waiting and because I wanted to write more about the Brenner/Link/Keil romance. If you're interested in reading about Brenner and Link getting off by fantasizing about Keil, you should check it out!


End file.
